HE^DIISTG^S 



FROM 



ENGLISH HI8TOET 



SELECTED AND EDITED 



JOHN EICHARD GREEN, M.A., LL.D. 

HONORARY FELLOW OP JESUS COLLEGE, OXFORD 



THREE PARTS IN ONE VOLUME 




r Mo. 10 3 ic 



^OFwirmH^iS 



NEW YORK 
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 

FRANKLIN SQUARE 
1879 






f^^^ 



Permission has kindly been given to insert the following selections 
from works by American authors : 

Battle. OF Tewkesbury John Foster Kirk. 

Raleigh and Virginia George Bancroft. 

The First Day's Fight with the Armada .... Johft Lothrop Motley. 

The Last Day's Fight with the Armada John Lothrop Motley. 

The Pilgrim Fathers George Bancroft. 

Wolfe at Quebec George Bancroft. 

Bunker's Hill George Bancroft. 



Copyright, 1879, by Harper & Brothers. 



; 



u 



PREFACE. 



My aim in compiling these books of historical 
e ^tracts is a very simple and practical one. 

The teaching of English History is spreading fast 
through our schools ; but it can hardly be said as yet 
to have become a popular subject of study among 
their scholars. In fact, if I may trust my own ex- 
perience, a large proportion of boys and girls turn 
from it as " hard," " dry," and *' uninteresting." I 
cannot say that the complaint is a groundless one. 
In their zeal to cram as many facts as possible into 
their pages, the writers of most historical text-books 
have been driven to shut out from their narratives 
all that gives life and colour to the story of men. 
History, as we give it to our children, is literally 
" an old almanack ; " and is as serviceable as an 
old almanack in quickening their wits or in jrousing 
their interest. No doubt wiser books will come in 
time; but meanwhile those teachers who care to 
appeal to more valuable faculties than that of mere 
memory are hard put to it to find a remedy for the 
" dryness " of history. 

One of the most eminent of our Enghsh school- 
mistresses has been in the habit of breaking from 
time to time the history lessons of her various classes 



vi PREFACE. 

by reading to them passages from the greater his- 
torians, illustrative of some event in the time which 
they were studying, and weaving these extracts into 
a continuous story by a few words at 'their opening 
and close. The plan is a very simple and effective 
one, as its success has proved, for history has become 
popular with her scholars, while the '' dry " parts of 
the text-books are mastered with far greater accuracy 
than of old. There is but one obstacle in the way 
of its general adoption, but that is a serious one ; 
for it presupposes the possession of an historical 
library far too large and expensive to be within the 
reach of the bulk of teachers. 

It is this difficulty that I have tried in some degree 
to meet by these books of extracts. Read to a class 
which has fairly mastered the facts of the period 
which they illustrate, I trust they may solve in some 
measure the difficulty which has been found in enlist- 
ing the interest of the learner on the side of history, 
while requiring from him a steady knowledge of 
historical facts. 

In compiling this book I have been driven here and 
there by sheer necessity of space to omissions and a 
few trivial changes, for which its purely educational 
character must be my excuse. I have not been able 
to avail myself as largely as I could have wished of 
passages from recent or living authors ; but I have to 
acknowledge my obligations to Messrs. Longman, 
Murray, and other publishers for their permission 
to use extracts from works which are still their 
property. 



CONTENTS 



PART I. 

PACK 

I. The Early Englishmen — Green i 

II. The English Conquest of Britain — Gibbon ... 5 

III. Conversion of the English — Freeman 11 

IV. Cadmon and Early English Poetry — Brooke . . 15 
V. Alfred at Athelney— Zzw^ar^ 19 

VI. Alfred and his Books — Palgrave 24 

VII. DUNSTAN — Green 29 

VIII. Battle of Hastings — Freetnan 34 

IX. The Harrying of the North — Freeman .... 41 

X. Lanfranc— C////;r/^ 45 

XI. Death of the Conqueror — Palgrave 49 

XII. Anselm's Election — CJmrch 53 

XIII. Death of the Red Y^y^g— Palgrave 58 

XIV. Blending of Conquerors and Conquered — Green 62 
XV. Battle of the Standard — Thierry 71 

XVI. Thomas the Chancellor — Miss Yonge 75 

XVII. The Murder of Becket— 6'/a«/o' 81 

XVIII. Death of Henry the Second— 6'/z/i5<5j 89 

XIX. King Richard in the Holy Land — Miss Yonge . . 94 

XX. John and the Charter — Green 99 

XXI. The Friars and the Towns — Brewer 105 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

XXII. Death of Simon of Montfort — Prothero . . . .no 

XXIII. An Early Election to Parliament — Palgrave . .114 

XXIV. Expulsion of Jews — Green 121 

XXV. Wanderings of the Bruce — Scott 126 

XXVI. Bannockburn— i".:^// 132 

XXVII. Chaucer— ^r^c?^^ 138 

XXVIII. Cressy— ^//>j Yonge 145 



PART II. 

I. The Peasant Rising— 6";^;/ i 

II. Agincourt — Micheht 7 

III. Joan of K^<z— Green 12 

IV. Battle of Tewkesbury— A-'zVZ' 16 

V. Caxton — Green 21 

VI. Battle of Bosworth — Yonge 26 

VII. The Field of the Cloth of Gold — Yonge ... 32 

VIII. Flodden Field — Scott . .' 37 

IX. The Translation of the Bible— 6^r^^;/ 41 

X. Coronation of Anne Boleyn — Fronde 46 

XI. Wyat's Insurrection — Lingard 51 

XII. The Protestant Martyrs— 6';r^'« 58 

XIII. Philip of Spain — Macaiilay 63 

XIV. Raleigh and Virginia — Baiicroft 68 

XV. The First Day's Fight with the Kycsikdk— Motley 74 

XVI. The Last Day's Fight with the Armada — Motley 78 

XVII. Shakspere's Early Life— 6^;w;/ 84 

XVIII. The Pilgrim Fathers — Bancroft 90 

XIX. Death of Raleigh — Gardiner 96 

XX. The Puritans— A'/z/fj/O/ 100 



CONTENTS. vii 

PAGE 

XXI. Milton — Green 105 

XXII. Strafford's Trial and Death — Forster no 

XXIII. Death of Hampden — Macaulay . . .115 

XXIV. Marston Moor — Markham . 119 

XXV. Trial of the 'K.yhq,— Forster 125 

XXVI. Execution of Charles the First — Masson . . .132 

XXVII. Escape of Charles the Second — Gtdzot .... 136 

XXVIII. Driving out of Long Parliament — Guizot . . .142 

XXIX. Death of Cromwell — Guizot 147 



PART III. 

I. The Restoration — Macaulay i 

II. Charles the Second — Green 6 

III. "The Pilgrim's Progress" — Green 11 

IV. Persecution of Covenanters — Scott 16 

V. The Popish Vl.oi:— Macaulay 23 

VI. The Trial of the Seven V>\%YiOV^— Mackintosh . . 29 

VII. The Landing of William of Ov^k-^g^— Macaulay . 33 

VIII. Killiecrankie — Scott * 38 

IX. Massacre of Glencoe — Scott 43 

X. Marlborough at Blenheim — Green 48 

XI. Sir Robert \N alvoue— Macaulay . ....... 54 

XII. Battle of Preston Pans — Scott 61 

XIII. Whitefield and Wesley — Green 67 

XIV. Clive at Arcot — Stanhope 71 

XV. Wolfe at Quebec — Bancroft 77 

XVI. Bunker's Hill — Bancroft 82 

XVII. ^KTi— Smiles 86 

XVIII. Battle of the I^ily.— Soiithey ......... 91 



viii CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

XIX. Death of Nelson — Sotithey loo 

XX. The Battle of Albuera— yViz/^Vr io6 

XXL Waterloo — Green 112 

XXII. The Reform '^yll— Spencer Walpole I^7 

XXIII. The Retreat from Cabul— ^/w;? 122 

XXIV. George Stephenson— y. H. Fyfe 129 

XXV. ^PCLKY.\.p^N^— W.H.Russell 133 



READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 
PART I. 

FROM HENGEST TO CRESSY. 



PROSE READINGS 
FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

PART I 
I. 

THE EARLY ENGLISHMEN. 
GREEN. 

[Britain, or the island in which we live, was first made known 
to the civilized world by a Roman General, Julius Caesar, 
in the year 55 before the birth of Christ. Caesar had 
conquered Gaul, a country which included our present 
France and Belgium, and brought it under the rule of 
Rome ; but in the course of his conquest he learned that 
to the west of Gaul lay an island named Britain, whose 
peoples were mainly of the same race with the Gauls and 
gave them help in their struggles against the Roman 
armies. He resolved therefore to invade Britain ; and in 
two successive descents he landed on its shores, defeated 
the Britons, and penetrated at last beyond the Thames. 
No event in history is more memorable than this landing 
of Caesar. In it the greatest man of the Roman race 
made known to the world a land whose people in the 
after-time were to recall, both in their temper and in the 
breadth of their rule, the temper and empire of Rome. 
Caesar however was recalled from Britain by risings in 
Gaul ; and for a hundred years more the island remained 
unconquered. It was not till the time of the Emperor 



2 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY 

Claudius that its conquest was again undertaken ; and a 
war which only ended under the Emperor Domitian at 
last brought all the southern part of the island under the 
rule of Rome. Britain remained a province of the Roman 
Empire for more than three hundred years. During this 
time its tribes were reduced to order, the land was civil- 
ized, towns were built, roads made from one end of the 
island to the other, mines were opened, and London 
grew into one of the great ports of the world. But 
much oppression was mingled with this work of pro- 
gress, and throughout these centuries the province was 
wasted from time to time by inroads of the unconquered 
Britons of the north, whose attacks grew more formid- 
able as Rome grew weaker in her struggle against the 
barbarians who beset her on every border. At last the 
Empire was forced to withdraw its troops from Britain, 
and to leave the province to defend itself against its 
foes. To aid in doing this, the Britons called in bands 
of soldiers from nortliern Germany, who gradually grew 
into a host of invaders, and became in turn a danger 
to the island. These were our forefathers, the first 
Englishmen who set foot in Britain.] 

For the fatherland of the English race we must look far 
away from England itself. In the fifth century after the 
birth of Christ the one country which we know to have 
borne the name of Angeln or England lay within the 
district which is now called Sleswick, a district in the heart 
of the peninsula that parts the Baltic from the northern 
seas.^ Its pleasant pastures, its black-timbered homesteads, 
its prim little townships looking down on inlets of purple 
water, were then but a wild waste of heather and sand, 
girt along the coast with a sunless woodland broken here 
and there by meadows that crept down to the marshes and 
the sea. The dwellers in this district however seem to have 
been merely an outlying fragment of what was called the 

^ The penijisula of Sleswick-Holstein aud of Jutland. 



THE EARLY ENGLISHMEN. 3 

Engle or English folk, the bulk of whom lay probably in 
what is now Lower Hanover and Oldenburg. On one 
side of them the Saxons of Westphalia held the land from 
the Weser to the Rhine; on the other the Eastphalian 
Saxons stretched away to the Elbe. North again of the 
fragment of the English folk in Sleswick lay another 
kindred tribe, the Jutes, whose name is still preserved in 
their district of Jutland. Engle, Saxon, and Jute all be- 
longed to the same Low-German branch of the Teutonic 
family ;2 and at the moment when history discovers them 
they were being drawn together by the ties of a com- 
mon blood, common speech, common social and political . 
institutions. There is little ground indeed for believing 
that the three tribes looked on themselves as one people, 
or that we can as yet apply to them, save by anticipation, 
the common name of Englishmen. But each of them was 
destined to share in the conquest of the land in which we 
live ; and it is from the union of all of them when its con- 
quest was complete that the English people has sprung. 

The energy of these peoples found vent in a restlessness 
which drove them to take part in the general attack of the 
German race on the empire of Rome.^ For busy tillers 
and busy fishers as Englishmen were, they were at heart 
fighters; and their world was a world of war. Tribe warred 
with tribe, and village with village ; even within the town- 
ship itself feuds parted household from household, and 
passions of hatred and vengeance were handed on from 
father to son. Their mood was above all a mood of fighting 

2 Teutonic is the gejieral natne for all branches of the Ger7nan 
race^ either in Germany or elsewhere. ^ /;^ the fifth and 

sixth centiiries after Christ the Empire of Rome was attacked by 
the German peoples, who ovei'ran most of its provinces in the 
west, and founded new nations there. Thus the Franks con- 
quered Gaul, the Lo??ibards 7torthern Italy; and made them 
France and Lombardy. 



4 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

men, A^enturesome, self-reliant, proud, with a dash of hard- 
ness and cruelty in it, but ennobled by the virtues which 
spring from war, by personal courage and loyalty to plight- 
ed word, by a high and stern sense of manhood and the 
worth of man. A grim joy in hard fighting was already 
a characteristic of the race. War was the Englishman's 
"shield-play'' and " sword-game "j the gleeman's* verse 
took fresh fire as he sang of the rush of the host and the 
crash of its shield-line. Their arms and weapons, helmet 
and mailshirt, tall spear and javelin, sword and seax, the 
short broad dagger that hung at each warrior's girdle, 
gathered to them much of the legend and the art which 
gave colour and poetry to the life of Englishmen. Each 
sword had its name like a living thing. And next to their 
love of war came their love of the sea. Everywhere 
throughout Beowulf's song, as everywhere throughout the 
life that it pictures, we catch the salt whiff of the sea. The 
Englishman was as proud of his sea-craft as of his war- 
craft; sword in teeth he plunged into the sea to meet 
walrus and sea-lion ; he told of his whale-chase amidst the 
icy waters of the north. Hardly less than his love for the 
sea was the love he bore to the ship that traversed it. In 
the fond playfulness of English verse the ship was 
" the wave-floater," " the foam-necked," " hke a bird " as it 
skimmed the wave-crest, "like a swan" as its curved prow 
breasted the "swan-road" of the sea. 

Their passion for the sea marked out for them their part 
in the general movement of the German nations. While 
Goth and Lombard were slowly advancing over mountain 
and plain the boats of the Englishmen pushed faster over 
the sea. Bands of English rovers, outdriven by stress of 
fight, had long found a home there, and lived as they 

* Gleeman is the old English name for jninstreL 



THE ENGLISH CONQUEST OF BRITAIN. $ 

could by sack of vessel or coast. Chance has preserved 
for us in a Sleswick peat-bog one of the war-keels^ of these 
early pirates. The boat is flat-bottomed, seventy feet long 
and eight or nine feet wide, its sides of oak boards fastened 
with bark ropes and iron bolts. Fifty oars drove it over 
the waves with a freight of warriors whose arms, axes, 
swords, lances, and knives were found heaped together in 
its hold. Like the galleys of the Middle Ages such boats 
could only creep cautiously along from harbour to harbour 
in rough weather ; but in smooth water their swiftness fitted 
them admirably for the piracy by which the men of these 
tribes were already making themselves dreaded. Its flat 
bottom enabled them to beach the vessel on any fitting 
coast ; and a step on shore at once transformed the boat- 
men into a war-band. From the first the daring of the 
English race broke out in the secrecy and suddenness of 
the pirates' swoop, in the fierceness of their onset, in the 
careless glee with which they seized either sword or oar. 
** Foes are they," sang a Roman poet of the time, *' fierce 
beyond other foes and cunning as they are fierce ; the sea 
is their school of war and the storm their friend ; they are 
sea-wolves that prey on the pillage of the world ! " 



II. 

THE ENGLISH CONQUEST OF BRITAIN. 
GIBBON. 

[These English pirates were called to Britain by the Britons 
themselves. As troubles gathered round Rome itself, the 
Empire withdrew its troops and ofiicers from the island ; 

^ ICeel is still in 7iorthern England the name for a boat. 



PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

but with independence came the need of fighting for self- 
defence against the sea-rovers who attacked its shores, 
and the Picts or tribes of the Scotch Highlands who pene- 
trated to the heart of the country. It was to repulse the 
Picts that Britain sought the aid of some bands of Jutes 
who landed under their chieftain, Hengist, in Kent, and 
obtained lands there in reward for their assistance. But 
the Jutes themselves soon became as great a danger as 
the Picts whom they had repulsed ; as quarrels arose with 
Britons they called for help from their fatherland; and 
bands of Jutes, Saxons, and Angles descended one after 
another on the shores of Britain to begin a work of con- 
quest which at last made the land their own. Faction 
and internal weakness aided the progress of the invaders ; 
but the Britons fought hard for their land ; and in no part 
of the Roman world did the German warriors find so long 
and so stubborn a resistance.] 



Under the long dominion of the Emperors Britain had 
been insensibly moulded into the elegant and servile form of 
a Roman province, whose safety was intrusted to a foreign 
power. The subjects of Honorius ^ contemplated their new 
freedom with surprise and terror ; they were left destitute of 
any civil or military constitution ; and their uncertain rulers 
wanted either skill, or courage, or authority to direct the 
public force against the common enemy. The introduction 
of the Jutes betrayed their internal weakness, and de- 
graded the character both of the prince and people. Their 
consternation magnified the danger; the want of union 
diminished their resources ; and the madness of civil 
factions was more solicitous to accuse, than to remedy 
the evils, which they imputed to the misconduct of their 



1 The Roman Einph^e was parted between two brothers, 
Honorius and Arcadiiis. Honor ms ruled all its western pro- 
viftces, including Britain, till the withdrawal of the Roman 
administration from that island in 411. 



THE ENGLISH CONQUEST OF BRITAIN. 7 

adversaries. 2 Yet the Britons were not ignorant, they could 
not be ignorant, of the manufacture or the use of arms : 
the successive and disorderly attacks of the invaders 
allowed them to recover from their amazement, and the 
prosperous or adverse events of the war added discipline 
and experience to their native valour. 

While the continent of Europe and Africa yielded without 
resistance to the barbarians, the British island, alone and 
unaided, maintained a long, a vigorous, though an unsuccess- 
ful struggle against the formidable pirates,^ who, almost at 
the same instant, assaulted the northern, the eastern, and 
the southern coasts. The cities which had been fortified 
with skill were defended with resolution : the advantages 
of ground, hills, forests, and morasses, were diligently im. 
proved by the inhabitants ; the conquest of each district was 
purchased with blood ; and the defeats of the invaders are 
strongly attested by the discreet silence of their annalist.* 
Hengist might hope to achieve the conquest of Britain ; but 
his ambition in an active reign of thirty-five years was con- 
fined to the possession of Kent. The monarchy of the West 
Saxons was laboriously founded by the persevering efforts of 
three martial generations. The life of Cerdic, one of the 
bravest of the children of Woden, was consumed in the 
conquest of Hampshire and the Isle of Wight; and the loss 
which he sustained in the battle of Mount Badon,^ reduced 
him to a state of inglorious repose. 

Kenric, his valiant son, advanced into Wiltshire ; besieged 

2 // is probable that 171 the withdrawal of the Roman authori- 
ties two parties disputed the rule of Bi-itain, one that of the 
townsfolk, who were of Roman blood and speech, the other that 
of the country folk, who %vere chiefly of British blood, and p7'o- 
bably spoke the British tongue. ^ The futes, Engle, and 

Saxojis, who together are kiiown as Englishme7i. * The 

Saxon Chro7iicler. ^ I71 this battle the British ge7ieral, 

Arthur, repulsed the Saxons. 



8 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Old Sarum, at the time seated on a commanding eminence ; 
and vanquished an army which advanced to the reHef of the 
city. In a subsequent battle near Marlborough, his British 
enemies displayed their military science. Their troops were 
formed in three lines ; each line consisted of three distinct 
bodies ; and the cavalry, the archers, and the pikemen, were 
distributed according to the principles of Roman tactics. 
The Saxons charged in one weighty column, boldly en- 
countered with their short swords the long lances of the 
Britons, and maintained an equal conflict till the approach 
of night. Two decisive victories, the death of three British 
kings, and the reduction of Cirencester, Bath, and Gloucester, 
established the fame and power of CeauUn, the grandson 
of Cerdic, who carried his victorious arms to the banks of 
the Severn. 

After a war of a hundred years, the independent Britons 
still occupied the whole extent of the western coast, from 
the Firth of Clyde to the extreme promontory of Cornwall ; 
and the principal cities of the inland country still opposed 
the arms of the barbarians. Resistance became more 
languid as the number and boldness of the assailants con- 
tinually increased. Winning their way by slow and painful 
efforts, the Saxons, the Angles, and their various confederates, 
advanced from the north, from the east, and from the south, 
till their victorious banners were united in the centre of the 
island. Beyond the Severn, the Britons still asserted their 
national freedom, which survived the heptarchy and even 
the monarchy of the Saxons. The bravest warriors, who 
preferred exile to slavery, found a secure refuge in the 
mountains of Wales ; ^ the reluctant submission of Cornwall 
was delayed for some ages,^ and a band of fugitives acquired 

6 South Wales was 7'edticed by Hejiry the First ; North Wales 
retained its freedom till the time of Edward the First. "^ Its 

conquest was completed in the tenth centuiy by King Ethels tan. 



THE ENGLISH CONQUEST OF BRITAIN. 9 

a settlement in Gaul, by their own valour or the liberality 
of the Merovingian kings.^ The western angle of Armorica ^ 
acquired the new appellation of Cornwall and the Lesser 
Britain ; and the vacant lands of the Osismii were filled by 
a strange people, who, under the authority of their counts 
and bishops, preserved the laws and language of their an- 
cestors. To the feeble descendants of Clovis and Charle- 
magne the Britons of Armorica refused the customary 
tribute, subdued the neighbouring dioceses of Vanneis, 
Rennes, and Nantes, and formed a powerful though vassal 
state which has been united to the crown of France. 

In a century of perpetual, or at least implacable war, 
much courage and some skill must have been exerted for 
the defence of Britain. Yet, if the memory of its champions 
is almost buried in oblivion, we need not repine ; since every 
age, however destitute of science or virtue, sufficiently 
abounds with acts of blood and military renown. The 
tomb of Vortimer, the son of Vortigern,^^ was erected on the 
margin of the sea-shore as a landmark formidable to the 
Jutes, whom he had thrice vanquished in the fields of Kent. 
Ambrosius Aurelianus ^^ was descended from a noble family 
of Romans ; his modesty was equal to his valour, and his 
valour, till the last fatal action, was crowned with splendid 
success. But every British name is effaced by the illustrious 
name of Arthur, the hereditary prince of the Silures ^^ in 
South Wales, and the elective king or general of the nation. 
According to the most rational account, he defeated in 
twelve successive battles the Angles of the North, and the 

8 The Merovings or Meerwings were the royal race of the 
Franks, who conquered Gatd. ^ Brittany. ^o Yorti- 

gem was the leader of the Britons in their resistance to Hengist. 
He was followed in this by his son Vortimer. ^^ A head 

of the Roman or townsfolk party, who continued the struggle 
against the invade?-s. 12 More probably a prince of 

Cornwall, 



lo PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Saxons of the West : but the declining age of the hero was em- 
bittered by popular ingratitude and domestic misfortunes. 

The events of his life are less interesting than the singular 
revolutions of his fame. During a period of five hundred 
years the tradition of his exploits was preserved and rudely 
embellished by the obscure bards of Wales and Brittany, 
who were odious to the Saxons and unknown to the rest of 
mankind. The pride and curiosity of the Norman con- 
querors prompted them to inquire into the ancient history 
of Britain ; they listened with fond credulity to the tale of 
Arthur, and eagerly applauded the merit of a prince who 
had triumphed over the Saxons, their common enemies. 
His romance, transcribed in the Latin of Jeffrey of Mon- 
mouth, and afterwards translated into the fashionable idiom 
of the times,^^ was enriched with the various, though inco- 
herent ornaments which were familiar to the experience, the 
learning, or the fancy of the twelfth century. The gallantry 
and superstition of the British hero, his feasts and tourna- 
ments, and the memorable institution of his Knights of the 
Round Table, were faithfully copied from the reigning 
manners of chivalry, and the fabulous exploits of Uther's 
son appear less incredible than the adventures which were 
achieved by the enterprising valour of the Normans. Pil- 
grimage and the holy wars ^^ introduced into Europe the 
specious miracles of Arabian magic. Fairies and giants, 
flying dragons and enchanted palaces, were blended with 
the more simple fictions of the West ; and the fate of Britain 
was made to depend on the art or the predictions of 
Merlin. 1^ Every nation embraced and adorned the popular 
romance of Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table : 
their names were celebrated in Greece and Italy, and the 

^■^ The French iongiic. ^* The C7-icsades. -^^ Merlin 

was fabled to be a great enchajiter in ArtJmfs days^ whose p?'0' 
phecies were held in honour tlwough the middle ages. 



CONVERSION OF THE ENGLISH. ii 

voluminous tales of Sir Lancelot and Sir Tristram ^^ were 
devoutly studied by the princes and nobles, who disregarded 
the genuine heroes and historians of antiquity. At length 
the light of science and reason was rekindled ; the talisman 
was broken ; the visionary fabric melted into air ; and by a 
natural, though unjust, reverse of the public opinion, the 
severity of historic criticism came to question the existefice 
of Arthur. 



III. 

CONVERSION OF THE ENGLISH. 
FREEMAN. 

[The fight between the Britons and their invaders was a 
long and stubborn one ; and it was not till the end of the 
sixth century that the eastern half of Britain had become 
a country of Englishmen. But these Englishmen were 
broken up into many separate tribes, and were far from 
being as yet a single people. To bring about their union 
into one nation was the work of many hundred years ; 
but the first great step made in it was the binding all the 
English tribes together in one Christian religion. At their 
conquest they had been heathen, worshipping Woden 
and other gods, from whom they believed their kings to 
have sprung, and thus their winning of Britain had driven 
Christianity from the land. But Gregory the Great, a 
bishop of Rome, who had long cherished the hope of 
converting them at last, sent a band of missionaries to 
Kent, one of the kingdoms which the English had set up in 
in Britain, whose King ^thelberht had married a Christian 

^^ Lancelot and Trist7'am were the two most famous knights 
in the fabled court of Arthur. 



12 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

wife. Their conversion of Kent was a starting-point for 
the conversion of Britain.] 

Some time before Gregory became Pope, perhaps about 
the year 574, he went one day through the market at Rome, 
where, among other things, there were still men, women, 
and children to be sold as slaves. He there saw some 
beautiful boys who had just been brought by a slave- 
merchant, boys with a fair skin and long fair hair, as 
English boys then would have. He asked from what part 
of the world they came, and whether they were Christians 
or heathens. He was told that they were heathen boys 
from the Isle of Britain. Gregory was sorry to think that 
forms which were so fair without should have no light 
within, and he asked again what was the name of their 
nation. '' Angles^ ' ^ he was told. *' Angles," said Gregory ; 
"they have the faces of Angels, and they ought to be made 
fellow-heirs of the Angels in heaven. But of what province 
or tribe of the Angles are they?" '' Of Deira,'''^ said the 
merchant. " De ira ! " ^ said Gregory : " then they must be 
delivered from the wrath of God. And what is the name 
of their King?" "^Ella." ''JSlla; then Alleluia shall 
be sung in his land." Gregory then went to the Pope, 
and asked him to send missionaries into Britain, of whom 
he himself would be one, to convert the English. The 
Pope was willing, but the people of Rome, among whom 
Gregory was a priest and was much beloved, would not 
let him go. So nothing came of the matter for some while. 
We do not know whether Gregory was able to do any- 
thing for the poor little EngHsh boys whom he saw in the 
market, but he certainly never forgot his plan for converting 
the English people. After a while he became Pope him- 

^ "Ajtgles " is the same woj-dwith our present word " English- 
menl^ * Deira was our present Yorkshire. ^ ^^ Dc. 

ird" in Latin means ^^ from the wrath.*' 



CONVERSION OF THE ENGLISH. 13 

self. Of course he now no longer thought of going into 
Britain himself, as he had enough to do at Rome. But he 
now had power to send others. He therefore presently sent 
a company of monks, with one called Augustine at their 
head, who became the first Archbishop of Canterbury, and 
is called the Apostle of the English. This was in 597. 
The most powerful king in Britain at that time was ^thel- 
berht of Kent, who is said to have been lord over all the 
kings south of the Humber. This ^thelberht had done 
what was very seldom done by English kings then- or 
for a long time after : he had married a foreign wife, the 
daughter of Chariberht, one of the kings of the Franks in 
Gaul.^ Now the Franks had become Christians ; so when 
the Frankish Queen came over to Kent, ^Ethelberht 
promised that she should be allowed to keep to her own 
religion without let or hindrance. She brought with her 
therefore a Frankish Bishop named Ijudhard, and the 
Queen and her Bishop used to worship God in a little 
church near Canterbury called Saint Martin's, which had 
been built in the Roman times. So you see that both 
yEthelberht and his people must have known something 
about the Christian faith before Augustine came. It does 
not, however, seem that either the King or any of his people 
had at all thought of turning Christians. This seems strange 
when one reads how easily they were converted afterwards. 
One would have thought that Bishop Liudhard would 
have been more likely to convert them than Augustine, for, 
being a Frank, he would speak a tongue not very different 
from English, while Augustine spoke Latin, and, if he ever 
knew English at all, he must have learned it after he came 
into the island. I cannot tell you for certain why this was. 
Perhaps they did not think that a man who had merely 

* The Franks had cotiquered Roman Gaul as the English had 
conquered Roman Britain. 



14 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

come in the Queen's train was so well worth listening to as 
one who had come on purpose all the way from the great 
city of Rome, to which all the West still looked up as the 
capital of the world. 

So Augustine and his companions set out from Rome, 
and passed through Gaul,^ and came into Britain, even as 
Caesar had done ages before. But this time Rome had 
sent forth men not to conquer lands, but to win souls. 
They landed first in the Isle of Thanet, which joins close^ 
to the east part of Kent, and thence they sent a message 
to King ^thelberht saying why they had come into his land. 
The King sent word back to them to stay in the isle till he 
had fully made up his mind how to treat them; and he 
gave orders that they should be well taken care of mean- 
while. After a little while he came himself into the isle, 
and bade them come and tell him what they had to say. 
He met them in the open air, for he would not meet them 
in a house, as he thought they might be wizards, and that 
they might use some charm or spell, which he thought 
would have less power out of doors. So they came, carry- 
ing an image of our Lord on the Cross wrought in silver, 
and singing litanies as they came. And when they came 
before the King, they preached the Gospel to him and to 
those who were with him, telling them, no doubt, how there 
was one God, who had made all things, and how He had 
sent His Son Jesus Christ to die upon the cross for man- 
kind, and how He would come again at the end of the 
world to judge the quick and the dead. 

So King ^thelberht hearkened to them, and he made 
answer like a good and wise man. "Your words and pro- 
mises," said he, " sound very good unto me ; but they are 
new and strange, and I cannot believe them all at once, 
nor can I leave all that I and my fathers and the whole 

^ Gaicl here means modern France. 



CADMON AND EARLY ENGLISH POETRY. 15 

English folk have believed so long. But I see that ye 
have come from a far country to tell us that which ye 
yourselves hold for truth; so ye may stay in the land, 
and I will give you a house to dwell in and food to 
eat; and ye may preach to my folk, and if any man of 
them will believe as ye believe, I hinder him not." So 
he gave them a house to dwell in in the royal city of 
Canterbury, and he let them preach to the people. And, as 
they drew near to the city, they carried their silver image of 
the Lord Jesus, and sang litanies, saying, " We pray Thee, 
O Lord, let Thy anger and Thy wrath be turned away from 
this city, and from Thy holy house, because we have sinned. 
Alleluia ! " Thus Augustine and his companions dwelt at 
Canterbury, and worshipped in the old church where the 
Queen worshipped, and preached to the men of the land. 
And many men hearkened to them and were baptized, and 
before long King ^thelberht himself believed and was 
baptized ; and before the year was out there were added 
to the Church more than ten thousand souls. 



IV. 

CADMON AND EARLY ENGLISH POETRY. 
STOPFORD BROOKE. 

[The work of conversion v»'hich began in Kent spread over 
Britain ; and before another hundred years had passed 
every English kingdom had become Christian. With 
Christianity returned much of that older knowledge and 
learning which had been driven from the land by the 
English conquest. Schools were set up ; and Englishmen 
at last began to write both in Latin and in their ov/n 
2 



i6 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

tongue. The earliest and noblest of these earlier wTitings 
were poems ; and at the head of them stand the story of 
Beowulf, and Cadmon's Paraphrase of the Bible. The 
first is the story of the deeds and death of a hero named 
Beowulf, which seems to have been brought into England 
from some Danish land, and to have been translated or 
re-written by some Christian poet of Northumbria. Thus 
Beowulf can hardly be looked upon as a true English 
poem. The first true English poem is that of Cadmon, 
which was also of Northumbrian origin,] 

The story of Cadmon, as told by Bceda,^ proves that the 
making of songs was common at the time. Cadmon was a 
servant to the monastery of Hild, an abbess of royal blood, 
at ^\^litby in Yorkshire. He was somewhat aged when the 
gift of song came to him, and he knew nothing of the art 
of verse, so that at the feasts when for the sake of mirth all 
sang in turn he left the table. One night, having done so, 
and gone to the stables, for he had care of the cattle, he fell 
asleep, and one came to him in vision and said, "Cadmon, 
sing me some song." And he answered, " I cannot sing ; for 
this cause I left the feast and came hither." Then said the 
other, " However, you shall sing." "What shall I sing?" 
he replied. " Sing the beginning of created things," answered 
the other. Whereupon he began to sing verses to the praise 
of God, and, awaking, remembered what he had sung, and 
added more in verse worthy of God. In the morning he 
came to the steward, and told him of the gift he had re- 
ceived ; and being brought to Hild, was ordered to tell his 
dream before learned men, that they might give judgment 
whence his verses came. And when they had heard, they 
all said that heavenly grace had been conferred on him by 
our Lord. 

Cadmon's Poem, written about 670, is for us the beginning 

' Bceda was the first English Jiistorian. 



CADMON AND EARLY ENGLISH POETRY. 17 

of English poetry, and the story of its origin ought to be 
loved by us. Nor should we fail to reverence the place 
where it began. Above the small and land-locked harbour 
of Whitby rises and juts out towards the sea the dark cliff 
where Hild's monastery stood, looking out over the German 
Ocean. It is a wild, wind-swept upland, and the sea beats 
furiously beneath, and standing there one feels that it is a 
fitting birthplace for the poetry of the sea-ruling nation. 
Nor is the verse of the first poet without the stormy note of the 
scenery among which it was written. In it the old fierce war 
element is felt when Cadmon comes to sing the wrath of the 
rebel angels with God, and the overthrow of Pharaoh's host, 
and the lines, repeating, as was the old EngUsh way, the 
thought a second time, fall like stroke on stroke in battle. 
But the poem is religious throughout. Christianity speaks 
in it simply, sternly, with fire, and brings with it a new 
world of spiritual romance and feeling. The subjects of the 
poem were taken from the Bible ; in fact Cadmon para- 
phrased the history of the Old and New Testament. He 
sang the creation of the world, the history of Israel, the 
book of Daniel, the whole story of the life of Christ, future 
judgment, purgatory, hell and heaven. All who heard it 
thought it divinely given. ''Others after him," says Bseda, 
"tried to make religious poems, but none could vie with 
him, for he did not learn the art of poetry from men, nor of 
men, but from God." It was thus that English song began 
in religion. The most famous passage of the poem not only 
illustrates the dark sadness, the fierce love of freedom, and 
the power of painting distinct characters, which has always 
marked our poetry, but it is also famous for its likeness to a 
parallel passage in Milton. It is when Cadmon describes 
the proud and angry cry of Satan against God from his bed 
of chains in hell. The two great English poets may be 
brought together over a space of a thousand years in another 



iS PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

way, for both died in such peace that those who watched 
beside them knew not when they died. 

Of the poetry that came after Cadmon we have few re- 
mains. But we have many things said which show us that 
his poem, like all great works, gave birth to a number of 
similar ones. The increase of monasteries, where men of 
letters lived, naturally made the written poetry religious. 
But an immense quantity of secular poetry was sung about 
the country. Aldhelm, a young man when Cadmon died, 
and afterwards Abbot of Malmesbury, united the song-maker 
to the religious poet. He was a skilled musician, and it is 
said that he had not his equal in the making or singing of 
English verse. His songs were popular in King Alfred's 
time, and a pretty story tells that when the traders came 
into the town on the Sunday, he, in the character of a glee- 
man,2 stood on the bridge and sang them songs, with which 
he mixed up Scripture texts and teaching. Of all this wide- 
spread poetry we have now only the few poems brought 
together in a book preserved at Exeter, in another found at 
Vercelli, and in a few leaflets of manuscripts. The poems 
in the Vercelli book are all religious : legends of saints and 
addresses to the soul ; those in the Exeter book are hymns 
and sacred poems. The famous Traveller's Song, and 
the Lament of Deor inserted in it, are of the older and 
pagan time. In both there are poems by Cynewulf, whose 
work is remarkably fine. They are all Christian in tone. 
The few touches of love of nature in them dwell on gentle, 
not on savage scenery. They are sorrowful when they speak 
of the life of men, tender when they touch on the love of 
home, as tender as this little bit which still lives for us out 
of that old world : " Dear is the welcome guest to the 
Frisian wife when the vessel strands ; his ship is come, and 

2 A minstrel. 



ALFRED AT ATHELNEY. 19 

her husband to his house, her own provider. And she 
welcomes him in, washes his weedy garment, and clothes him 
anew. It is pleasant on shore to him whom his love awaits." 
Of these scattered pieces the finest are two fragments, one 
long, on the story of Judith, and another short, in which 
Death speaks to Man, and describes '' the low and hateful, 
and doorless house," of which he keeps the key. But 
stern as the fragment is, with its English manner of looking 
dreadful things in the face, and with its English pathos, the 
religious poetry of our old fathers always went with faith be- 
yond the grave. Thus we are told that King Eadgar, in the 
ode on his death in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, *' chose for 
himself another light, beautiful and pleasant, and left this 
feeble life." 



V. 

ALFRED AT ATHELNEY. 
LINGARD. 

[Important as was this revival of learning, Christianity 
brought with it a yet more important result in furthering 
the union of the small English tribes into a single English 
kingdom. After long stmggles this was brought about by 
Ecgberht, King of the West-Saxons, who conquered the 
other English peoples, and brought all of them under his 
rule. But his work was soon undone. Sea-rovers from the 
Scandinavian lands, called the Danes, at this time attacked 
all the western countries of Europe ; and their heaviest 
attack fell on Britain. They conquered all the northern, 
eastern, and central parts of the country ; and not only 
broke the rule of the West-Saxon kings over them, but at 
last fell upon the West-Saxons themselves. Alfred, the 
West-Saxon king, for a time held them bravely at bay, but 
a sudden surprise made them masters of his country, and 
drove him for a while to the marshes of Athelney.] 



20 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

GuTHRUM ^ had fixed his residence at Gloucester, and re- 
warded the services of his veterans by dividing among them 
the lands in the neighbourhood. But while this peaceful 
occupation seemed to absorb his attention, his mind was 
actively employed in arranging a plan of warfare, which 
threatened to extinguish the last of the Saxon governments 
in Britain. A winter campaign had hitherto been unknown 
in the annals of Danish devastation ; after their summer 
expeditions the invaders had always devoted the succeeding 
months to festivity and repose, and it is probable that the 
followers of Guthrum were as ignorant as the Saxons of the 
real design of their leader. On the first day of the year 878 
they received an unexpected summons to meet him on 
horseback at an appointed place ; on the night of the 6th of 
January they were in possession of Chippenham, a royal villa 
on the left bank of the Avon. There is reason to believe that 
Alfred was in the place when the alarm was given ; it is 
certain that he could not be at any great distance. From 
Chippenham, Guthrum dispersed his cavalry in different 
directions over the neighbouring counties ; the Saxons were 
surprised by the enemy before they had heard of the war ; 
and the king saw himself surrounded by the barbarians, 
without horses, and almost without attendants. At first he 
conceived the rash design of rushing on the multitude of his 
enemies ; but his temerity was restrained by the more con- 
siderate suggestions of his friends ; and he consented to 
reserve himself for a less dangerous and more hopeful ex-- 
periment. To elude suspicion he dismissed the few thanes ^ 
who were still near his person, and endeavoured alone and 
on foot to gain the centre of Somersetshire. There he found 
a secure retreat in a small island . situated in a morass formed 

^ The leader of the Danes ivho attacked Wessex. " Thanes 

were 7iobles ivho held land from the king on condition of serving 
him in war. 



ALFRED AT ATHELNEY. 2i 

by the conflux of the Tone and the Parret, which was after- 
wards distinguished by the name of EtheHngey, or Prince's 
Island. 

Though the escape of Alfred had disappointed the hopes 
of the Danes, they followed up their success with indefatig- 
able activity. The men of Hampshire, Dorset, Wilts, and 
Berkshire, separated from each other, ignorant of the fate of 
their prince, and unprepared for any rational system of de- 
fence, saw themselves compelled to crouch beneath the storm. 
Those who dwelt near the coast crossed with their families 
and treasure to the opposite shores of Gaul ; the others 
sought to mitigate by submission the ferocity of the invaders, 
and by the surrender of a part to preserve the remainder of 
their property. One county alone, that of Somerset, is said 
to have continued faithful to the fortunes of Alfred ; and yet 
in the county of Somerset he was compelled to conceal 
himself at Ethelingey, while the ealdorman ^ ^thelnoth with 
a few adherents wandered in the woods. By degrees the 
secret of the royal retreat was revealed ; Alfred was joined 
by the more trusty of his subjects ; and in their company 
he occasionally issued from his concealment, intercepted the 
straggling parties of the Danes, and returned, loaded with 
the spoils, often of the enemy, sometimes (such was his hard 
necessity) of his own people. As his associates multiplied, 
these excursions were more frequent and successful ; and at 
Easter, to facilitate the access to the island, he ordered a 
communication to be made with the land by a wooden 
bridge, of which he secured the entrance by the erection 
of a fort. 

While the attention of Alfred was thus fixed on the enemy 
who had seized the eastern provinces of his kingdom, he 
was unconscious of the storm which threatened to burst on 

^ An ealdorman was the chief officer of a province or shire 
under the king. 



22 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISPI HISTORY. 

him from the west. Another of the sons of Ragnar/ pro- 
bably the sanguinary Ubbo, with three-and-twenty sail, had 
lately ravaged the shores of South Wales ; and, crossing to the 
northern coast of Devonshire, had landed his troops in the 
vicinity of Apledore. It appears as if the two brothers had 
previously agreed to crush the king between the pressure of 
their respective armies. Alarmed at this new debarkation, 
Odun, the ealdorman, with several thanes fled for security to 
the castle of Kynvvith. It had no other fortification than a 
loose wall erected after the manner of the Britons ; but its 
position on the summit of a lofty rock rendered it impreg- 
nable. The Danish leader was too wary to hazard an assault ; 
and calmly pitched his tent at the foot of the mountain, 
in the confident expectation that the want of water would 
force the garrison to surrender. But Odun, gathering cou- 
rage from despair, silently left his entrenchments at the dawn 
of morning, burst into the enemy's camp, slew the Danish 
chief v/ith twelve hundred of his followers, and drove the 
remainder to their fleet. The bravery of the Saxons was 
rewarded with the plunder of Wales ; and among the trophies 
of their victory was the Reafan, the mysterious Standard of 
the Raven, woven in one noon-tide by the hands of the three 
daughters of Ragnar. The superstition of the Danes was 
accustomed to observe the bird as they marched to battle. 
If it appeared to flap its wings, it was a sure omen of victory ; 
if it hung motionless in the air, they anticipated nothing but 
defeat. 

The news of this success infused courage into the hearts 
of the most pusillanimous. Alfred watched the reviving 
spirit of his people, and by trusty messengers invited them 
to meet him in the seventh week after Easter at the stone of 

^ Ragnar was a Danish hero, who was said to have been slain 
in England, and whose sons swore to avenge his death by con- 
quering the island. Guthriini was 07ie of these sons, Ubbo another. 



ALFRED AT ATHELNEY. 



23 



Egbert, in the eastern extremity of Selvvood ^ forest. On 
the appointed day the men of Hampshire, Wiltshire, and 
Somerset cheerfully obeyed the summons. At the appear- 
ance of Alfred they hailed the avenger of their country; 
the wood echoed their acclamations ; and every heart beat 
with the confidence of victory. But the place was too 
confined to receive the multitudes that hastened to the 
royal standard ; and the next morning the camp was re 
moved to Icglea, a spacious plain lying on the skirts of the 
wood, and covered by marshes in its front. The day was 
spent in making preparations for the conflict, and in assign- 
ing their places to the volunteers that hourly arrived; at 
the dawn of the next morning Alfred marshalled his forces, 
and occupied the summit of Ethandune, a neighbouring and 
lofty eminence. 

In the meanwhile Guthrum had not been an idle spectator 
of the motions of his adversary. He had recalled his scat- 
tered detachments, and was advancing with hasty steps to 
chastise the insolence of the insurgents. As the armies met 
they vociferated shouts of mutual defiance ; and after the 
discharge of their missive weapons, rushed to a closer and 
more sanguinary combat. The shock of the two nations, 
the efforts of their leaders, the fluctuations of victory, and 
the alternate hopes and fears of the contending armies, 
must be left to the imagination of the reader. The Danes 
displayed a courage worthy of their former renown and 
their repeated conquests. The Saxons were stimulated by 
every motive that could influence the heart of man. Shame, 
revenge, the dread of subjugation, and the hope of inde- 
pendence, impelled them forward ; their perseverance bore 
down all opposition ; and the Northmen, after a most obsti- 
nate but unavailing resistance, fled in crowds to their camp. 

^ The great forest of Selwood 7'an along the valley of the 
Frojne and by Dorset to the sea. 



24 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

The pursuit was not less murderous than the engagement ; 
the Saxons immolated to their resentment every fugitive who 
fell into their hands. Immediately, by the king's orders, 
lines were drawn round the encampment ; and the escape 
of the survivors was rendered impracticable by the vigilance 
and the multitude of their enemies. Famine and despair 
subdued the obstinacy of Guthrum, who on the fourteenth 
day offered to capitulate. The terms imposed by the con- 
queror were : that the king and principal chieftains should 
embrace Christianity ; that they should entirely evacuate 
his dominions ; and that they should bind themselves to 
the fulfilment of the treaty by the surrender of hostages, and 
by their oaths. After a few weeks, Guthrum, with thirty of 
his officers, was baptized at Aulre, near Athelney. He 
took the surname of Athelstan, and Alfred was his sponsor. 
After the ceremony both princes removed to Wedmore, 
where on the eighth day Guthrum put off the white robe 
and chrysmal fillet, and on the twelfth bade adieu to his 
adopted father, whose generosity he had now learned to 
admire as much as he had before respected his valour. 



VI. 

ALFRED AND HIS BOOKS. 
PALGRAVE. 



[The triumph over Guthrum secured Wessex, or southern 
England, from the Danes; and gave Alfred leisure to 
prepare for the re-conquest of the rest of the country. 
For this purpose he steadily got ready a new fleet and 
army. But he did more to gather England round him 



ALFRED AND HIS BOOKS. 25 

by showing in himself what a true and noble king should 
be, by living uprightly and ruling justly; and by doing 
what he could to restore to England the law and good 
government which seemed to have perished in the troubles 
of the time. Not less earnestly did -he strive to restore 
learning, which had suffered most of all ; and in the face 
of overwhelming difficulties he did so much, both by 
himself and through other scholars, that as English poetry 
is said to begin with Cadmon, so English prose looks back 
for its beginning to Alfred.] r 

Alfred was wholly ignorant of letters until he attained 
twelve years of age. He was greatly loved by his parents, 
who fondled the boy for his beauty ; but that instruction 
which the poorest child can now acquire with the greatest 
ease was withheld from the son of the Anglo-Saxon king. 
Alfred was taught to wind the horn and to bend the bow, 
to hunt and to hawk ; and he acquired great skill in the art 
' of the chase, considered throughout the middle ages as the 
most necessary accomplishment of the nobility, whilst book- 
learning was thought of little use to them. Alfred's eager 
mind did not, however, remain unemployed. Though he 
could not read he could attend, and he listened eagerly to 
the verses which were recited in his father's hall by the" 
minstrels and the gleemen, the masters of Anglo-Saxon 
song. Day and night would he employ in hearkening to 
these poems ; he treasured them in his memory, and during 
, the whole of his life, poetry continued to be his solace and 
amusement in trouble and care. 

It chanced one day that Alfred's mother, Osburgha, 
shoAved to him and his brothers a volume of Anglo-Saxon 
poetry which she possessed. '' He who first can read the 
book shall have it," said she. Alfred's attention was at- 
tracted by the bright gilding and colouring of one of the 
illuminated capital letters. He was delighted with the gay 
volume, and enquired of his mother, — would she really keep 



26 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

her word ? She confirmed the promise, and put the book 
into his hands ; and he applied so steadily to his task, that 
the book became his own. 

The information which Alfred now possessed rendered 
him extremely desirous of obtaining more ; but his ignorance 
of Latin was an insuperable obstacle. Science and know- 
ledge could not then be acquired othenvise than from Latin 
books ; and earnestly as he sought for instruction in that 
language, none could be found. Sloth had overspread the 
land ; ^ and there were so few " Grammarians," that is to say 
Latinists, in Wessex, that he was utterly unable to discover 
a competent teacher. In after life, Alfred was accustomed 
to say, that of all the hardships, privations, and misfortunes 
which had befallen him, there was none which he felt so 
grievous as this, the enforced idleness of his youth, when 
his intellect would have been fitted to receive the lesson, 
and his time was unoccupied. At a more advanced period, 
the arduous toils of royalty, and the pressure of most severe 
and unintermitting pain, interrupted the studies which he 
was then enabled to pursue, and harassed and disturbed his 
mind, — yet he persevered ; — and the unquenchable thirst for 
knowledge which the child had manifested, continued, with- 
out abatement, until he was removed from this stage of 
exertion. When the Treaty of Wedmore freed him from the 
Danes, Alfred's plans for the intellectual cultivation of his 
country were directed, in the first instance, to the diffusion 
of knowledge amongst the great body of the people, i Hence 
he earnestly recommended the translation ** of useful books 
into the language which we all understand ; so that all the 
youth of England, but more especially those who are of 
gentle-kind and at ease in their circumstances, may be 
grounded in letters, — for they cannot profit in any pursuit 

^ Or rather, the war with the Danes had discouraged 
learning. 



ALFRED AND HIS BOOKS. 27 

until they are well able to read English. " This opinion is 
extracted from a document appearing to have been a circular 
letter addressed by Alfred to the Bishops ; and the desire 
which it expresses is the best proof of the sincerity of his 
intentions, and the grasp and comprehensiveness of his 
mind. Much had been done on the Continent for the culti- 
vation of learning, particularly by Charlemagne; but the 
munificence of the Frankish emperor, and of those who 
thought like him, was calculated to confine the g*ift within 
the pale of the cloister. The general tendency of the 
middle ages was to centre all erudition in a particular caste, 
severed from the rest of society. Alfred's labours, on the 
contrary, were directed to enable every individual to have a 
share, according to his station and degree, in the common 
inheritance of wisdom 

Alfred taught himself Latin by translating. You will 
recollect his regret at the want of masters in early life. As 
soon as he was settled in his kingdom he attempted to 
supply this deficiency, not only for himself, but also for his 
people, by inviting learned men from foreign parts. Asser, 
a native of St. David's, whom he appointed Bishop of 
Sherbourne, was one of them. Great confidence and friend 
ship prevailed between Alfred and the British priest ; and 
to the pen of Asser we owe a biography of the Anglo-Saxon 
monarch, written with equal simplicity and fidelity. Grim- 
bald, at the invitation of Alfred, left Gaul, his own country, 
and settled in England. A third celebrated foreigner was 
called Johannes Scotus, from his nation, or Ei'ige7ia^ the 
Irishman, from the place of his birth. From these dis- 
tinguished men, to whom must be added Plegmund, Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury, Alfred was enabled to acquire that 
learning which he had so long sought. Asser permits us to 
contemplate Alfred beginning his literary labours. They 
were engaged in pleasant converse; and it chanced that 



28 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Asser quoted a text or passage, either from the Bible or 
from the works of some of the Fathers, Alfred asked his 
friend to write it down in a blank leaf of that collection of 
psalms and hymns which he always carried in his bosom ; 
but not a blank could be found of sufficient magnitude. 
Pursuant therefore to Asser' s proposal, a quire, or quaternion^ 
that is to say, a sheet of vellum folded into fotcrs, was 
produced, on which these texts were written; and Alfred 
afterwards working upon them, translated the passages so 
selected into the Anglo-Saxon tongue. 

He continued the practice of writing down such remark- 
able passages as were quoted in conversation. His ^'hand- 
boc" or manual, however, included some matters of his 
own observation, anecdotes, or sayings of pious men; but 
the body of the collection appears to have consisted of 
extracts from the Scriptures, intermingled with reflections of 
a devotional cast. He attempted a complete version of the 
Bible, and some have supposed that he completed the greater 
portion of the task ; but it seems Jthat the work was pre- 
vented by his early death. As far as we can judge from 
those portions of the plan which were carried into execution, 
his translations were intended to present a complete course 
of such works as were then considered the most useful and 
best calculated to form the groundwork of a liberal educa- 
tion. The chronicle of Orosius was the best compendium 
of universal history which had yet been composed. In 
translating this work Alfred presented his subjects with a 
geographical account of the natives of Germany ; and the 
voyages of Other towards the North Pole, and of Wolfstan 
in the Baltic, were detailed as these travellers related them 
to the king. The history of Baeda, which was also rendered 
into English, instructed the learner in the annals of his own 
country. In this work Alfred did not depart from his 
original ; but in his version of the " Consolations of Philo- 



DUNSTAN. 29 

sophy," by Boethius, the narratives taken from ancient 
mythology, Hke the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, are 
expanded into pleasing tales, such as the gleeman recited 
during the intervals of his song. " Pastoral Instructions " of 
St. Gregory and the "Dialogues" composed by that Pope, 
also form a portion of Alfred's translations, and are yet 
existing. His other works are no longer extant; and we 
must lament the loss of his "Apologues" of ''wonderful 
sweetness," which seem to have been a collection of Esopian 
fables imitated from Phaedrus, or perhaps from some other 
of the collections into which these eastern parables had 
been transfused. 



VII. 

DUNSTAN. 
GREEN. 

[Death removed Alfred before he could carry out his 
plans of winning back England from the Danes ; but 
this was done by the kings of his house who followed him, 
Eadward, ^thelstan, and Eadmund. The Danes were 
conquered after long struggles, and all England brought 
under the West-Saxon rule. The last great struggle 
took place under King Eadred ; and the final settlement 
of the country was brought about by his friend and 
counsellor, the Abbot Dunstan, who remained minister of 
the kingdom through the reign of the greatest of those 
kings, Eadgar.] 

The completion of the West-Saxon realm was reserved 
for the hands, not of a king or warrior, but of a priest. 
Dunstan stands first in the line of ecclesiastical states- 
men who counted among them Lanfranc and Wolsey 



30 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

and ended in Laud. He is still more remarkable in him- 
self, in his own vivid personality, after eight centuries of 
revolution and change. He was born in the little hamlet 
of Glastonbury,^ the home of his father, Heorstan, a man 
of wealth and brother of the bishops of Wells and of Win- 
chester. It must have been in his father's hall that the 
fair, diminutive boy, with his scant but beautiful hair, caught 
his love for '^ the vain songs of heathendom, the trifling le- 
gends, the funeral chaunts," which afterwards roused against 
him the charge of sorcery. Thence too he may have de- 
rived his passionate love of music, and his custom of carry- 
ing his harp in hand on journey or visit. Wandering scholars 
of Ireland 2 had left their books in the monastery of Glaston- 
bury, as they left them along the Rhine and the Danube ; 
and Dunstan plunged into the study of sacred and profane 
letters till his brain broke down in delirium. So famous 
became his knowledge in the neighbourhood that news of 
it reached the court of ^thelstan,^ but his appearance 
there was the signal for a burst of ill-will among the 
courtiers. They drove him from the king's train, threw him 
from his horse as he passed through the marshes, and with 
the wild passion of their age trampled him under foot in 
the mire. 

The outrage ended in fever, and Dunstan rose from his 
sick-bed a monk. But the monastic profession was then 
little more than a vow of celibacy,* and his devotion took 
no ascetic turn. His nature in fact was sunny, versatile, 
artistic ; full of strong affections, and capable of inspiring 
others with affections as strong. Quick-witted, of tenacious 



^ Near Wells m Somerset. - Ireland in early times was 

ftill of schools and learnings and its scholars and missionaries 
iva7idered over Europe. This learning came to an end with the 
ravages of the Danes. ^ }Cing ALthelstan was the gratid- 

son of Alfred. ^ That is, abstinence from marriage. 



DUNSTAN. 31 

memory, a ready and fluent speaker, gay and genial in 
address, an artist, a musician ; he was at the same time an 
indefatigable worker at books, at building, at handicraft. As 
his sphere began to widen we see him followed by a train 
of pupils, busy with literature, writing, harping, painting, 
designing. One morning a lady summoned Dunstan to 
her house to design a robe which she was embroidering, 
and as he bent with her maidens over their toil his 
harp hung upon the wall sounded, without mortal touch, 
tones which the excited ears around framed into a joyous 
antiphon. 

From this scholar-life Dunstan was called to a wider 
sphere of activity by the accession of Eadmund.^ But the 
old jealousies revived at his reappearance at court, and, 
counting the game lost, Dunstan prepared again to with- 
draw. The King had spent the day in the chase ; the red 
deer which he was pursuing dashed over Cheddar cliffs,^ and 
his horse only checked itself on the brink of the ravine at 
the moment when Eadmund in the bitterness of death was 
repenting of his injustice to Dunstan. He was at once 
summoned on the King's return. " Saddle your horse," 
said Eadmund, " and ride with me." The royal train swept 
over the marshes to his home ; and the King, bestowing on 
him the kiss of peace, seated him in the abbot's chair as 
Abbot of Glastonbury. Dunstan became one of Ead- 
mund's councillors and his hand was seen in the settlement 
of the North. It was the hostility of the states around it 
to the West-Saxon rule which had roused so often revolt in 
the Danelagh ; but from this time we hear nothing more of 
the hostility of Bernicia,''' while Strathclyde was conquered 

^ The son and snccessor of ^tJiehian. 6 j^ the Mendip 

Hills of Somerset. 7 Benticia comprized all England 

between Yorkshire a7id the Firth of Forth. Strathclyde was th^ 
conntry from the Firth of Clyde southward to near Carlisle. 



32 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

by Eadmund and turned adroitly to account in winning 
over the Scots to his cause. The greater part of it was 
granted to their King Malcolm on terms that he should be 
Eadmund's fellow-worker by sea and land. The league of 
Scot and Briton was thus finally broken up, and the fidelity 
of the Scots secured by their need of help in holding down 
their former ally. 

The settlement was soon troubled by the young king's 
death. As he feasted at Pucklechurch in the May of 946, 
Leofa, a robber whom Eadmund had banished from the 
land, entered the hall, seated himself at the royal board, 
and drew sword on the cup-bearer when he bade him retire. 
The king sprang in wrath to his thegn's aid, and seizing 
Leofa by the hair flung him to the ground; but in the 
struggle the robber drove his dagger to Eadmund's heart. 
His death at once stirred fresh troubles in the north ; the 
Danelagh^ rose against his brother and successor, Eadred, 
and some years of hard fighting were needed before it was 
again driven to own the English supremacy. But with its 
submission in 954 the work of conquest was done. Dogged 
as his fight had been, the Northman at last owned himself 
beaten. From the moment of Eadred's final triumph all 
resistance came to an end. The Danelagh ceased to be a 
force in English politics. North might part anew from 
South ; men of Yorkshire might again cross swords with men 
of Hampshire ; but their strife was henceforth a local strife 
between men of the same people ; it was a strife of English- 
men with Englishmen, and not of Englishmen with North- 
men. 

The death of Eadred in 955 handed over the realm to a 
child king, his nephew Eadwig. Eadwig was swayed by a 
woman of high lineage, ^thelgifu ; and the quarrel between 

^ All from the Tees southward to a line across Mid- England 
was settled by Danes and called the Danelagh. 



DUNSTAN. 33 

her and the older counsellors of Eadred broke into open 
strife at the coronation feast. On the young king's insolent 
withdrawal to her chamber, Dunstan, at the bidding of the 
Witan, drew him roughly back to his seat. But the feast 
was no sooner ended than a sentence of outlawry drove 
the abbot over sea, while the triumph of ^thelgifu was 
crowned in 957 by the marriage of her daughter to the King 
and the spoliation of the monasteries which Dunstan had 
befriended. As the new Queen was Eadwig's kinswoman, 
the religious opinion of the day regarded his marriage as 
incestuous, and it was followed by a revolution. At the 
opening of 958 Archbishop Odo^ parted the King from his 
wife by solemn sentence ; while the Mercians ^° and North- 
umbrians rose in revolt, proclaimed Eadwig's brother Eadgar 
their King, and recalled Dunstan. The death of Eadwig a 
few months later restored the unity of the realm, but his 
successor Eadgar was only a boy of fourteen, and throughout 
his reign the actual direction of affairs lay in the hands of 
Dunstan, whose devotion to the See of Canterbury set him 
at the head of the Church as of the State. The noblest 
tribute to his rule lies in the silence of our chroniclers. His 
work indeed was a work of settlement, and such a work was " 
best done by the simple enforcement of peace. During the 
years of rest in which the stern hand of the Primate enforced 
justice and order Northman and Englishmen drew together 
into a single people. Their union was the result of no 
direct policy of fusion ; on the contrary Dunstan's policy 
preserved to the conquered Danelagh its local rights and 
local usages. But he recognized the men of the Danelagh 
as Englishmen, he employed Northmen in the royal service, 
and promoted them to high posts in Church and State. For 
the rest he trusted to time, and time justified his trust. The 
fusion was marked by a memorable change in the name of 
^ Archbishop of Canterbury. ^^ People of mid-Etiglaiut 



34 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

the land. Slowly as the conquering tribes had learned to 
know themselves by the one national name of Englishmen, 
they learned yet more slowly to stamp their name on the 
land they had won. It was not till Eadgai's day that the 
name of Britain passed into the name of Engla-land, the 
land of Englishmen, England. 



VIII. 
BATTLE OF HASTINGS. 

FREEMAN. 

[England had now become a great kingdom : but it had yet 
sore trials to bear before Englishmen could be thoroughly 
welded and blended together into one people, looking on 
themselves as a single nation. First, as the kingdom 
grew weak under Eadgar's successors, came a second 
Danish attack, which ended for a while in the conquest of 
England, and in its rule by the Danish king Cnut. But 
the oppression of his sons put an end to the Danish rule ; 
and the old English kingdom was set up again undei 
Eadward the Confessor, who was guided by wise ministers. 
Earl Godwine and his son Harold. On Eadward's death, 
however, Harold sought the crown, and had himself 
chosen king. This woke rivalry and dissension among the 
other nobles, and so laid England open to the ambition of 
its neighbour over-sea, William the Duke of the Normans. 
Pretending that the Confessor had named him as his suc- 
cessor, William crossed the Channel with a great army, 
and landing at Pevensey marched to the field of Senlac, 
north of the town of Hastings, and near to the present 
town of Battle, to which the fight that followed gave its 
name. Here he found Harold with an English army 
awaiting his attack on a low hill or rise of ground, which 
he had strengthened with barricades.] 



BATTLE OF HASTINGS. 35 

King Harold had risen early and had put his men in 
order. On the slope of the hill, just in the face of William's 
army as it came from Hastings, he planted the two ensigns 
which were always set up in an English royal army, and 
between which the King had his royal post. The one 
was the golden Dragon, the old ensign of Wessex; the 
other was the Standard, which seems to have been the 
King's own device. King Harold's Standard was a great 
flag, richly adorned with precious stones and with the figure 
of a fighting-man wrought upon it in gold. As the English 
thus had two ensigns, they had also two war-cries. They 
shouted "God Almighty," which I take to have been the 
national war-cry, and they also shouted " Holy Cross," 
that is no doubt the Holy Cross of Waltham which King 
Harold held in such reverence. Perhaps this last was the 
cry of the King's own men. For there were in the English 
army two very different kinds of men. There were King 
Harold's own followers, his own kinsmen and friends 
and Thanes^ and housecarls, the men of whom the North- 
men said that any one could fight any other two men. 
These were in short the men who had won the fight of 
Stamfordbridge.2 They wore coats of mail, and they had 
javelins to hurl at the beginning of the fight, and their great 
two-handed axes to use when the foe came to close quarters. 
But besides these tried soldiers there were the men 
who came together from the 'whole South and East of 
England, who were armed as they could arm themselves, 
many of them very badly. Most of them had no coats of 
mail or other armour, and many had neither swords nor 

^ Thanes were 7ioblcs who were bound to fight for their lord; 
hotcsecarls were soldiers kept specially for the king's service. 

^ fust before William's landing, Harold had fought and 
beaten at Stajnfordbridge his own brother Tostig, who had in- 
vaded England with an army of Northmen under their king^ 
Harold Hardrada. 



36 FROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

axes. Some of them had pikes, forks, anything they could 
bring; a very few seem to have had bows and arrows. 
Now in a battle on the open ground these men would have 
been of no use at all ; the Norman horsemen would have 
trampled them down in a moment. But even these badly 
armed troops, when placed on the hill side, behind barri- 
cades, could do a good deal in driving the Normans back 
as they rode up. But as far a-s I can see King Harold 
put these bad troops in the back, towards what we may call 
the isthmus of the peninsula,^ where the worse troops on the 
other side were likely to make the attack. But his picked 
men he put in front, where the best troops of the enemy 
were likely to come. 

f Thus the English stood on the hill ready for the French 
host, horse and foot, who were coming across from Telham. 
to attack them. About nine o'clock on Saturday morning 
they came near to the foot of the hill. The Norman army 
was in three parts. Alan ^ and the Bretons had to attack 
on the left, to the west of the Abbey buildings. Roger 
of Montgomery with the French and Picards were on 
the right, near where the railway station is now. Duke 
William himself and the native Normans were in the midst, 
and they came right against the point of the hill which was 
crowned by the Standard, where King Harold himself stood 
ready for them. 

And now began the great battle of Senlac or Hastings. 
The Norman archers let fly their arrows against the English ; 
then the heavy-armed foot were to come up ; and lastly 
the horsemen. They hoped of course that the shower of 
arrows would kill many of the English and put the rest 

^ The groic7id Ofi which the English army stood was a low 
rise, cut off from the ground near if, and so like a peninsula. 

^ The Coiint of Britanny, who had brought troops to William^ s 
aid. 



BATTLE OF HASTINGS, 37 

into confusion, and that the heavy-armed foot would then 
be able to break down the barricades, so that the horsemen 
might ride up the hill. But first of all a man named, or 
rather nicknamed, Taillefer or Cut-iron^ rode out alone from 
the Norman ranks. He was a juggler or minstrel, who could 
sing songs and play tricks, but he was a brave man all the 
same, and he asked Duke William's leave that he might 
strike the first blow, hand to hand. So Taillefer the mins- 
trel rode forth, singing as he went, like Harold Hardrada at 
Stamfordbridge, and, as some say, throwing his sword up in 
the air and catching it again. As he came near to the 
English line, he managed to kill one man with his lance 
and another with his sword, but then he was cut down 
himself. Then the French army pressed on at all points, 
shouting '' God help us," while our men shouted, " God 
Almighty " and " Holy Cross." They tried very hard, first 
the foot and then the horse, to break down the barricade. 
But it was all in vain. The English hurled their javelins 
at them as they were drawing near, and when they came 
near enough, they cut them down with their axes. The 
Norman writers themselves tell us how dreadful the fight 
was, and how the English axe, in the hand of King 
Harold or of any other strong man, cut down the horse and 
his rider with a single blow. 

Duke William and his army tried and tried again to get 
up the hill, but it was all in vain ; our men did not swerve 
an inch, and they cut down every Frenchman who came 
near, King Harold himself and his brothers fighting among 
the foremost. Soon the French lines began to waver ; the 
Bretons on the right turned and fled, and soon the Normans 
themselves followed. The English were now sorely tempted 
to break their lines and pursue, which was just what King 
Harold had told them not to do. Some of them, seemingly 
the troops in the rear, where the Bretons had first given way, 



38 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

were foolish enough to disobey the King's orders, and to 
follow their flying enemies down into the plain. It seemed 
as if the French were utterly beaten, and a cry was raised 
that Duke William himself was dead. So, just as our King 
Edmund ^ had done at Sherstone, he tore off his helmet that 
men might see that he was alive, and cried out, " I live, and 
by God's help I will conquer." Then he and his brother the 
Bishop contrived to bring their men together again. They 
turned again to the fight; those who were pursued by the 
English cut their pursuers in pieces, and another assault on 
the hill began. Duke William this time had somewhat better 
luck. He got so near to the barricade just before the Standard 
that Earl Gyrth, who we know fought near his brother the 
King, was able to hurl a spear directly at him. It missed the 
Duke, but his horse was killed and fell under him, as two 
others did before the day was out. Duke William then 
pressed on on foot, and met Gyrth face to face, and slew 
him with his own hand. Earl Leofwine too was killed 
about the same time, and Roger of Montgomery and his 
Frenchmen on the right contrived to break down part of 
the barricade on that side. 

So this second attack was by no means so unsuccessful 
as the first. The two Earls were killed, and the barricade 
was beginning to give way. Still Duke William saw that 
he could never win the battle by making his horsemen 
charge up the hill in the teeth of the English axes. He 
saw that his only chance was to tempt the English 
to break their shield-wall, and come down into the plain. 
So he tried a very daring and dangerous trick. He had 
seen the advantage which by his good generalship he had 
contrived to gain out of the real flight of his m.en a 
little time before ; so he ordered his troops to pretend 
flight, and, if the English followed, to turn upon them. And 
^' Edmund Ironside. 



BATTLE OF HASTINGS. 39 

SO it was ; the whole French army seemed to be fleeing a 
second time ; so a great many of the EngHsh ran down the 
hill to chase them. As far as I can make out, it was only 
the light-armed, the troops on the right, who did this ; I 
do not think that any of King Harold's own housecarls 
left their ranks. But presently the Normans turned, and 
now the English had to fly. Those who had made this 
great mistake did their best to make up for it. Some 
managed to seize a little hill which rose in front of the 
English position, and thence they hurled down javelins and 
stones on those v/ho attacked them, and thus they com- 
pletely cut off a party who were sent against them. Others, 
who knew the ground well, led the Frenchmen who chased 
them to a place near the isthmus where the ground is 
very rough, and where there is a little narrow cleft with 
steep sides, all covered with bushes and low trees. So the 
Normans came riding on, and their horses came tumbling 
head over heels into the trap which was thus ready for 
them, and the English who were flying now turned round 
and killed the riders. 

All this was bravely and cleverly done ; but it could not 
recover the batde, now that King Harold's wise orders had 
once been disobeyed. The English line was broken ; the 
hill was defenceless at many points ; so the Normans 
could ride up, and the battle was now fought on the hill. 
The fight was by no means over yet ; the English had 
lost their great advantage of the ground; but King 
Harold and all his mighty men were still there ; so they 
still formed their shield-wall and fought with their great 
axes. Luck had no doubt turned against the English j still 
they were by no means beaten yet, and it is by no means 
clear that they would have been beaten after all, if King 
Harold had only lived till nightfall. Here, as always in 
these times, everything depended on one man. Harold still 



40 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

lived and fought by his Standard, and it was against that 
point that all the devices of the Normans were now aimed. 
The Norman archers had begun the fight, and the Norman 
archers were now to end it. Duke William now bade them 
shoot up in the air, that the arrows might fall like bolts 
from heaven. This device proved the most successful of 
all ; some men were pierced right through their helmets ; 
others had their eyes put out ; others lifted up their shields 
to guard their heads, and so could not wield their axes so 
well as before. King Harold still stood — you may see 
him in the Tapestry,^ standing close by the Golden Dragon, 
with his axe in his hand, and his shield pierced with several 
arrows. But now the hour of our great King was come. 
Every foe who had come near him had felt the might 
of that terrible axe, but his axe could not guard against 
tliis awful shower of arrows. One shaft, falling, as I said, 
from heaven, pierced his right eye ; he clutched at it and 
broke off the shaft ; his axe dropped from his hand, and 
he fell, all disabled by pain, in his own place as King, 
between the two royal ensigns. Twenty Norman knights 
swore to take the Standard now that the King no longer 
defended it ; they rushed on ; most of them were killed 
by the English who still fought around their wounded King ; 
but those who escaped succeeded in beating down the 
Standard of the Fighting Man and in bearing off the 
Golden Dragon. That ancient ensign, which had shone 
over so many battlefields, was never again carried before 
a true English King. Then four knights, one of whom 
was Count Eustace, rushed upon King Harold as he lay 
dying ; they killed him with several wounds, and mangled 
his body. Such was the end of the last native King cf the 

^ At Bayeux is preserved a long roll of linejt, on which is 
worked the story of the Norma?t Conquest^ perhaps by the hand 
of William'' s gneen, Matilda. 



THE HARRYING OF THE NORTH. 41 

English, Harold the son of Godwine. He fell by the most 
glorious of deaths, fighting for the land and the people which 
he had loved so well. 



IX. 

THE HARRYING OF THE NORTH. 
FREEMAN. 

[The work of conquest which began at Hastings was carried 
out in a series of campaigns which left William after five 
years of warfare undisputed master of England. Of the 
suffering which this warfare caused the most terrible 
instance was the pitiless laying waste of all Northern 
England, from which the most formidable resistance had 
come.] 

Now came that fearful deed, half of policy, half of ven- 
geance, which has stamped the name of William with 
infamy, and which forms a clearly marked stage in the 
downward course of his moral being. He had embarked in 
a wrongful undertaking ; but hitherto we cannot say that he 
had aggravated the original wrong by reckless or wanton 
cruelties. But, as ever, wrong avenged itself by leading to 
deeper wrong. The age was a stern one, and hitherto 
William had certainly not sinned against the public opinion 
of the age. Hitherto he had been on the whole a mercifu 
conqueror. He had shown that he belonged to another 
type of beings from the men who had wasted his own 
Duchy in his childhood, and from the men on whom ^ Siward 
and Tostig had striven to put some check within the land 

1 Siward and Tostig had been successively Earls of Norih- 
umbria, and had ruled its wild population with terrible sternness. 



42 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

which he had now won. Si ward and Tostig were both of 
them men of blood, stained with the guilt of private murder, 
from which vre may be sure that William would have shrunk 
at any time of his life. But we may be no less sure that 
Siward and Tostig, harsh as they were, would have shrunk 
from the horrors which William now proceeded deliberately 
to inflict on Northern England. 

The harryings of which Sussex and Kent had seen some- 
thing on his first landing 2 were now to be carried out far 
more systematically, far more unflinchingly, through the 
whole of Yorkshire and several neighbouring shires. The 
King took the v/ork of destruction as his personal share of 
the conquest of Northumberland. He left others to build 
his castles in York ; he left others to watch the Danish fleet 
in the Humber ; ^ but he himself went through the length 
and breadth of the land, through its wildest and most diffi- 
cult regions, alike to punish the past revolts of its people 
and to cripple their power of engaging in such revolts for 
the time to come. That all who resisted were slain with 
the sword was a matter of course. But now William went 
to and fro over points a hundred miles from one another, 
destroying, as far as in him lay, the life of the earth. It 
was not mere plunder, which may at least enrich the plun- 
derer; the work of William at this time was simple un- 
mitigated havoc. Houses were everywhere burned with all 
that was in them ; stores of corn, goods and property of 
every kind, were brought together and destroyed in the like 
sort; even living animals seem to have been driven to 
perish in the universal burning. 

The authentic records of the Conquest give no hint of 
any exceptions being made or favour being shown in any 

2 Befo7'e the battle of Hastins^s. ^ The revolt which 

William had cofne to suppress had begira at York, and had been 
supported by a Danish Jieet, which appea7'ed in the Humber. 



THE HARRYING OF THE NORTH. 43 

part of the doomed region. But local legends as usual 
supply their tale of wonder. Beverley was saved by the 
interposition of its heavenly patron, the canonized Arch- 
bishop John.^ The King had pitched his camp seven miles 
from the town, when news was brought that the people of 
the whole neighbourhood had taken shelter with all their 
precious things in the inviolable sanctuary which was afforded 
by the frithstooP of the saint. On hearing this, some 
plunderers, seemingly without the royal orders, set forth to 
make a prey of the town and of those who had sought 
shelter in it. They entered Beverley without meeting with 
any resistance, and made their way to the churchyard, where 
a vast crowd of people was gathered together. The leader 
of the band, Toustain by name, marked out an old man in 
goodly apparel with a golden bracelet on his arm. This 
was doubtless the badge of his official rank, or the prize 
which Harold or Siward or some other bracelet-giver ^ had 
bestowed as the reward of good service against Scot or Briton 
or Northman. The Englishmen fled within the walls of the 
minster. The sacrilegious Toustain, sword in hand, spurred 
his horse within the consecrated doors. But the vengeance 
of Saint John of Beverley did not slumber. The horse fell 
with its neck broken, and Toustain himself, smitten in his 
own person, his arms and legs all twisted behind his back, 
no longer seemed a man but a monster. His affrighted 
comrades laid aside all their schemes of plunder and 
slaughter, and humbly implored the mercy of the saint. 
They made their way back to William and told him the tale 
of wonder. The King had already shown himself a friend 
to the church of Saint John, and now, fearing the wrath of 

- /o/in was Archbishop of York in early days, and canonized 
as St. John of Beverley. ^ The shrine of a saint was held 

to give shelter to all. ^ Bracelets or at'inlets were given in 

rezuaj'd of good service, as medals are now. 



44 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

the saint, he summoned the chief member of the chapter 
before him, and again confirmed all their possessions by- 
charters under the royal seal. He added new grants of land 
and precious gifts for the adornment of the minster, and, 
what was of more immediate value than all, that there 
might be no further danger of the peace of Saint John being 
broken, he at once broke up his camp by sound of trumpet, 
and removed his headquarters to a place far removed from 
the hallowed spot. 

The lands of Saint John of Beverley were thus, according 
to the local legend, spared among the general havoc, and 
remamed tilled while all around was a wilderness. The 
long-abiding traces of the destruction which was now wrought 
were its most fearful feature. The accounts of the immediate 
ravaging are graphic and terrible enough, but they are 
perhaps outdone in significance by the passionless witness 
of the great Survey,'' the entries of ''Waste," "Waste," 
'' Vv^aste," attached through page after page to the Yorkshire 
lordships which, seventeen years after, had not recovered 
from the blow. Indeed, we may be inclined to ask whether 
Northern England ever fully recovered from the blow till 
that great developement of modern times which has reversed 
the respective importance of the North and the South. For 
nine years at least no attempt was made at tilling the 
ground ; between York and Durham every town stood un- 
inhabited; their streets became lurking-places for robbers 
and wild beasts. Even a generation later the passing 
traveller beheld with sorrow the ruins of famous towns, 
with their lofty towers rising above the forsaken dwellings, 
the fields lying untilled and tenantless, the rivers flowing 
idly through the wilderness. At the time the scene was so 
fearful that the contemporary writers seem to lack words to 

7 Doomsday-book, a survey of all England draiv7i tip by 
Williant's orders. 



LANFRANC. 45 

set forth its full horrors. Men, women, and children died 
of hunger ; they laid them down and died in the roads and 
in the fields, and there was no man to bury them. Those 
who survived kept up life on strange and unaccustomed 
food. The flesh of cats and dogs was not disdained, and 
the teaching which put a ban on the flesh of the horse as 
the food of Christian men ^ was forgotten under the stress 
of hunger. Nay, there were those who did not shrink 
from keeping themselves alive on the flesh of their own 
kind. Others, in the emphatic words of our old records, 
bowed their necks for meat in the evil days. They became 
slaves to any one who would feed them, sometimes, when 
happier days had come, to be set free by the charity 
of their masters. Before the end of the year Yorkshire 
was a wilderness. The bodies of its inhabitants were 
rotting in the streets, in the highways, or on their own hearth- 
stones ; and those who had escaped from sword, fire, and 
hunger, had fled out of the land.^ 



X. — 

LANFRANC. 
CHURCH. 

[The Norman Conquest of England was very different from 
any conquest that had gone before it. William not only 
subdued the land ; he changed the whole face of it. Its 
old nobles and landowners were for tlie most part cast out, 
and their lands given to foreign soldiers who had helped 
in the Conquest. Thus a foreign baronage was planted on 
the soil around the foreign king. And as in the State, so 

^ The horse was eaten by the Northmen, but as its flesh was 
offered in sacrifices to their oods, the eating of it was forbidden by 
the Christiaji priesthood. ^ To Scotland. 



46 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

William did his work in the Church. Here he had as 
counsellor, as wise and great as himself, the Lombard 
Lanfranc, whom he called from the Abbey of Bee to be 
Archbishop of Canterbury.] 

Lanfranc was a Lombard from Pavia.^ He is said to 
have been of a noble family, and to have taught and practised 
law in his native city. He was, at any rate, according to 
the measure of the time, a scholar, trained in what was 
known of the Classic Latin literature, in habits of dialectical 
debate, and especially in those traditions of Roman legal 
science which yet lingered in the Italian municipalities. For 
some unknown reason, perhaps in quest of fame and fortune, 
he left Italy and found his way northwards. It was a fashion 
among the Lombards. At Avranches in the Cotentin- he 
had opened a sort of school, teaching the more advanced 
knowledge of Italy among people who, Norse^ as they were 
in blood, were rapidly and eagerly welcoming everything 
Latin, just as the aspiring and the ambitious half-civilization 
of Russia tried to copy the fuller civilization of Germany 
and France. After a time, for equally unknown reasons, he 
left Avranches. 

The story which was handed down at Bee in after days, 
when he had become one of the most .^famous men' of his 
day, was that he was on his way to Rouen when he was 
spoiled by robbers and left bound to a tree, in a forest near 
the Rille. Night came on and he tried to pray ; but he 
could remember nothing — psalm or office. "Lord," he 
cried, " I have spent all this time and worn out body and 
mind in learning ; and now when I ought to praise Thee I 
know not how. Deliver me from this tribulation, and with 
Thy help I will so correct and frame my life that henceforth 

^ A town in Northern Italy. ^ The peninsula which juts 

out from Normandy on its Breto7i border. ^ Normandy had 

been won and settled by Northmeji. 



LANFRANC. 47 

I may serve Thee." Next morning, when some passers-by 
set him free, he asked his way to the humblest monastery in 
the neighbourhood, and was directed to Bee* To this place, 
as to the poorest and humblest af brotherhoods, Lanfranc 
came. The meeting between him and Herlwin^ is flius 
told. " The abbot happened to be busy building an oven^ 
working at it with his own hands. Lanfranc came up and 
said, ' God save you ! ' ' God bless you,' said the abbot ; 
*are you a Lombard?' 'I am,' said Lanfranc. 'What 
do you want?' 'I want to become a monk.' Then the 
abbot bade a monk named Roger, who was doing his own 
work apart, to show Lanfranc the Book of the Rule,^ which 
he read, and answered that with God's help he would gladly 
observe it. Then the abbot hearing this, and knowing who 
he was, and from whence he came, granted him what he 
desired. And he, falling down at the mouth of the oven, 
kissed Herlwin's feet." 

In welcoming Lanfranc, Herlwin found that he had wel- 
comed a great master and teacher. Lanfranc, under his 
abbot's urging, began to teach ; the monastery grew into a 
school, and Bee, intended to be but the refuge and training- 
place of a few narrow and ignorant but earnest devotees, 
thirsting after God and right amid the savagery of a half- 
tamed heathenism, sprang up, with the rapidity with which 
changes were made in those days, into a centre of thought 
and cultivation for Western Christendom. It was the com- 
bination more than once seen in modern Europe, where 
Italian genius and Northern strength have been brought 
together; where the subtle and rich and cultivated Southern 
nature has been braced and tempered into purpose and 

* Bee, or Bec-He'douin, a monastery iii mid-Normandy, by 
the valley of the Rille. ^ Herlwin was a knight who founded 
the abbey of Bee, and himself became its first abbot. ^ The 

rule of St. Benedict, which all monks were botmd to obey. 
3* 



48 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

energy by contact with the bolder and more strong-willed 
society of the North. Lanfranc supplied to the rising reli- 
gious fervour of Normandy just the element which it wanted 
and which made it fruitful and noble. 

The great Norman ruler/ whose mind was so full of great 
thoughts both in Church and State and whose hand was 
to be so heavy on those whom he ruled and conquered, 
soon found him out, and discovered that in Lanfranc he 
had met a kindred soul and a fit companion in his great 
enterprise of governing and reducing to order the wild 
elements of his age. In Lanfranc William had a man who 
could tell him all that any one of that age could tell him of 
what was then known of the history, philosophy, and litera- 
ture of the Church and the world, and of the actual state of 
questions, tendencies, and parties in the stiiTing ecclesiastical 
politics of the day. He could trust Lanfranc's acquaintance 
with his proper department of knowledge ; he could trust 
his honesty and untiring perseverance ; he could trust his 
good sense and his wise sobriety of mind ; he could trust 
his loyalty the more because he kiTew that it had bounds, 
though wide ones. For what seems to have riveted the 
connection between William and Lanfranc was Lanfranc's 
perilous boldness in siding at first with the ecclesiastical 
opposition to William's marriage ; ^ an opposition which 
probably touched his jealousy as a ruler, and certainly 
stung him to rage as a husband. When he heard that Lan- 
franc had condemned it, he ordered not only that the Prior 
of Bee should be banished from Normandy at once, but that 
the house should be punished also ; that the home farmstead 
of the abbey, or, as it was called, its ''park," should be 
burned and destroyed. 

7 Duhe William^ afie^-wards the conqueror of E^tgland. 
^ WilliauCs 7Jtarriage with Matilda, a daughter of the Count 
of Flanders, was long condenined by the Church. 



DEATH OF THE CONQUEROR. . 49 

The savage order was obeyed. Lanfranc set out on a 
lame horse which went on three legs, for the monks had no 
better to give him, says his biographer — unable, as so often 
we find it in these writers, to resist the joke which mixes with 
their tears and quotations from Scripture. He met the 
Duke, bitter and dangerous in his wrath ; he saluted him, 
"the lame horse, too, bowing his head to the ground at 
every step," as the biographer is careful to add. Lanfranc 
was sure that if he could only get a chance of explaining 
himself, his case was not desperate. The Duke first turned 
away his face ; then, " the Divine mercy touching his heart," 
he allowed Lanfranc to speak. "Lanfranc began," says 
the story, "with a pretty pleasantry," which betrays, as 
some other stories do, his astute Lombard humour ; " ' I am 
leaving the country by your orders,' he said, * and I have to 
go as if on foot, troubled as I am with this useless beast; 
for I have to look after him so much that I cannot get on a 
step. So, that I may be able to obey your command, please 
to give me a better horse.' " This joke took. The Duke re- 
plied in the same strain, that he never heard of an offender 
asking for a present from his displeased judge. So a begin- 
ning being made, Lanfranc gained a hearing, and was able— 
to make his position clear. William was too wise a man 
to throw away lightly an ally like Lanfranc. A complete 
reconciliation and a closer confidence followed. 



XL 
DEATH OF THE CONQUEROR. 
PALGRAVE. 

[What William did in the State Lanfranc did in the Church, 
casting out all Englishmen from bishoprics and great 
abbacies, and putting Normans and Fenchmen in their 



50 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

stead. Bat both King and Archbishop did nobler and 
better work than this. Lanfranc revived religion and 
learning throughout the land; while Willi4m, though, he 
ruled sternly, kept peace and enforced justice as no 
English King had been strong enough to do before him. 
He was drawn however from England in his later days to 
petty wars in France ; and while fighting on tlie Norman 
border found his death, while entering the town of Mantes 
which he had besieged.] 

An imprudent sally of the inhabitants of Mantes, with 
the intention of saving their crops, enabled William to enter 
their town, which was fired by the soldiery. Churches and 
dwellings alike sank in the flames, many of the inhabitants 
perished, even the recluses were burned in their cells. 
William, aged and unwieldy in body, yet impetuous and 
active in mind, cheered the desolation, and galloped about 
and about through the burning ruins. His steed stumbled 
amidst the glowing embers : the royal rider received a fatal 
injury from his fall. A lingering inflammation ensued, 
which the skill of his attendants could neither allay nor 
heal. He called in Gilbert Maminot, Bishop of Lisieux, 
and Gunthard, Abbot of Jumieges, both well competent to 
comfort him, if he could be comforted, in body and in mind. 
The noise, the disturbance, the tainted atmosphere of 
Rouen, became intolerable to the fevered sufferer, and he 
was painfully removed to the conventual buildings of St. 
Gervase, on the adjoining hill. The inward combustion 
spread so rapidly that no hope of recovery remained, and 
William knew that there was none. 

Firmly contemplating the end, and yet dreading its app- 
proach, he sent for Rufus ^ and Henry, his sons ; and now 
ensued that conflict of feeling never entirely absent from 

* William Rtifns.orthe Red, was his second son; Henry his 
youngest. 



DEATH OF THE CONQUEROR. 51 

the death-bed, but sometimes so painfully visible, when, 
as personified in the symbolical paintings of old, we be- 
hold the good angel and the evil demon contending for 
the mastery of the departing soul : the clinging to earthly 
things with a deep consciousness of their worthlessness, 
self-condemnation, and self-deceit, repentance, and obdu- 
racy, the scales of the balance trembling between heaven 
and hell. "No tongue can tell," said William, "the deeds 
of wickedness I have perpetrated in my weary pilgrimage of 
toil and care." He deplored his birth, born to warfare, 
polluted by bloodshed from his earliest years, his trials, the 
base ingratitude he had sustained. He also extolled his 
own virtues, praised his own conscientious appointments 
in the Church : expatiated upon his good deeds, his alms, 
and the monasteries and nunneries which under his reign 
had been founded by his munificence. 

But Rufus and Henry were standing by that bed-side, and 
who was to be the Conqueror's heir ? How were his dominions 
to be divided? William must speak of his earthly authority; 
but every word relating to the object of his pride was uttered 
in agony. Robert, as first-born, was to take Normandy : it 
was granted to him before WilHam met Harold in the field 
of the valley of blood. "Wretched," declared the King, 
"will be the country subjected to his rule; but he has re- 
ceived the homage of the barons, and the concession, once 
made, cannot be withdrawn. Of England, I will appoint 
no heir : let Him in whose hands are all things, provide 
according to His will." 

A night of somewhat diminished suffering ensued, when 
the troubled and expiring body takes a dull, painful, un- 
restful rest before its last earthly repose. But as the cheer- 
ful, life-giving rays of the rising sun were darting above the 
horizon, across the sad apartment, and shedding brightness 
on its walls, William was half awakened from his imperfect 



52 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

slumbers by the measured, mellow, reverberating swelling 
tone of the great cathedral bell. " It is the hour of prime," 
replied the attendants in answer to his inquiry. Then were 
the priesthood welcoming with voices of thanksgiving the 
renewed gift of another day, and sending forth the choral 
prayer, that the hours might flow in holiness till blessed at 
their close. But his time of labour and struggle, sin and 
repentance, was past. William lifted up his hands in prayer 
and expired. As was very common in those times, the 
death of the great and rich was the signal for a scene of dis- 
graceful neglect and confusion. The King's sons had 
already departed : all who remained of higher degree rushed 
out to horse, each hastening to his home, for the purpose of 
protecting his property against the dreaded confusion of an 
interregnum, or preparing to augment it. Those of meaner 
rank> the servants and ribalds of the court, stripped the 
corpse, even of its last garments, plundered every article 
within reach, and then, all quitting him, left William's 
body lying naked on the floor. 

Consternation and apathy were, after some hours, dimin- 
ished. The clergy recollected their duty, and offered up 
the prayers of the Church ; and the Archbishop directed 
that the body should be conveyed to Caen. But there was 
no one to take charge of the obsequies, not one of those 
who were connected with William by consanguinity, or 
bound to him by blood or by gratitude ; and the duty was 
performed by the care and charity of Herlouin, a knight of 
humble fortune, who himself defrayed the expenses, grieved 
at the indignity to which the mortal spoil of the Sovereign 
was exposed, and who, as the only mourner, attended the 
coffin during its conveyance to Caen. At the gates of Caen, 
clergy and laity came forth to receive the body, but at that 
very time flames arose, the streets were filled with heavy 
smoke : a fire had broken out which destroyed good part 



ANSELM'S ELECTION. S3 

of the city : the procession was dispersed, and the monks 
alone remained. They brought the body to St. Stephen's 
monastery, and took order for the royal sepulture. 

The grave was dug deep in the presbytery, between altar 
and choir. All the bishops and abbots of Normandy 
assembled. After mass had been sung, Gilbert, Bishop of 
Evreux, addressed the people : and when he had magnified 
the fame of the departed, he asked them all to join in 
prayer for the sinful soul ; and that each would pardon any 
injury he might have received from the monarch. A loud 
voice was now heard from the crowd. A poor man stood 
up before the bier, Asceline, the son of Arthur, who 
forbade that William's corpse should be received into 
the ground he had usurped by reckless violence. The 
Bishop forthwith instituted an inquiry into the charge. 
They called up witnesses, and the fact having been ascer- 
tained, they treated with Asceline and paid the debt, the 
price of that narrow little plot of earth, the last bed of 
the Conqueror. Asceline withdrew his ban ; but as the 
swollen corpse sank into the grave, it burst, filling the 
sacred edifice v/ith corruption. The obsequies were hurried 
through, and thus was William the Conqueroj gathered to 
his fathers, with loathing, disgust, and horror. 



XII. 

ANSELM'S ELECTION. 
CHURCH. 

[As William had feared, the reign of his son, the Red 
King, proved a curse to England. The nobles indeed 
were held firmly down, and peace was enforced. But the 
land was vexed with heavy taxes and sore oppression ; 



54 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

while the Church suffered from the King's extortion, its 
bishoprics and greater abbacies being left vacant that 
their revenues might go to the King's treasury. But so 
stern was the King that none dared withstand him, till a 
sore sickness brought him for a while to repent. He 
consented to fill the see of Canterbury, which had been 
left vacant since Lanfranc's death, and named to it the 
good Abbot of Bee, Anselm.] 

Anselm was born about 1033 at Aosta,^ or in its neigh- 
bourhood. The scenery of his birthplace, "wild Aosta, 
lulled by the Alpine rills," is familiar to the crowds who 
are yearly attracted to its neighbourhood by the love of 
Alpine grandeur and the interest of Alpine adventure, and 
who pass through it on their way to and from the peaks 
and valleys of the wonderful region round it.^ The district 
itself is a mountain land, but one with the richness and 
warmth of the South, as it descends towards the level of the 
river, the Dora Baltea, which carries the glacier torrents 
from the mountains round Mont Blanc and the Matterhorn 
to the plains where they meet the Po. Great ridges mask- 
ing the huge masses of the high Alps behind them, flank its 
long valley as it runs straight from east to west. Closely 
overhanging tiie city on the south rises rapidly a wall of 
sub-alpine mountain, for great part of the day in shadow, 
torn by ravines, with woods and pastures hanging on its 
steep flanks, and with while houses gleaming among them, but 
towering up at last into the dark precipices of the Becca di 
Nona and the peak of Mont Emilius. At the upper end 
of the valley, towards the west, seen over a vista of walnuts, 
chestnuts, and vines, appear high up in the sky, resting as 
it were on the breast of the great hills, the w^hite glaciers of 
the Ruitor, bright in sunshine, or veiled by storms; and 

^ In the north of Pied7no7it. ^ Switzerland lies to the 

north of Aosta. 



ANSELM'S ELECTION. 55 

from the bridge over the torrent which rushes by the city 
from the north, the eye goes up to the everlasting snows of 
the "domed Velan " and the majestic broken Pikes of 
the Grand Combin. 

The only trace of the influence on Anselm of the scenery 
in the midst of which he grew up is found in the story of a 
boyish dream which made an impression on him, as it is 
one of the few details about his life at Aosta which, doubt- 
less from his own mouth, Eadmer ^ has preserved. The 
story is not without a kind of natural grace, and fits in like 
a playful yet significant overture to the history of his life. 
"Anselm," it says, "when he was a little child, used gladly 
to listen, as far as his age allowed, to his mother's conversa- 
tion ; and having heard from her that there is one God in 
heaven above, ruling all things and containing all things, he 
imagined, like a boy bred up among the mountains, that 
heaven rested on the mountains, that the palace of God was 
there, and that the way to it was up the mountains. His 
thoughts ran much upon this ; and it came to pass on a cer- 
tain night that he dreamed that he ought to go up to the 
top of the mountain, and hasten to the palace of God, the 
Great King. But before he began to ascend he saw in the. 
plain which reached to the foot of the mountain women 
reaping the corn, who were the King's maidens ; but they 
did their work very carelessly and slothfully. The boy 
grieved at their sloth, and rebuking it, settled in his 
mind to accuse them before the Lord the King. So having 
pressed on to the top of the mountain, he came into the 
palace of the King. There he found the Lord with only 
his chief butler : for, as it seemed to him, all the household 
had been sent to gather the harvest; for it was autumn. 
So he went in and the Lord called him ; and he drew near 
and sat at his feet. Then the Lord asked him with 

'* His biographer. 



56 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

gracious kindness who he was and whence he came, and 
what he wanted. He answered according to the truth. Then 
the Lord commanded, and bread of the whitest was brought 
to him by the chief butler ; and he ate and was refreshed 
before the Lord. Therefore in the morning, when he re- 
called what he had seen before the eyes of his mind, he 
believed, like a simple and innocent child, that he really 
had been in heaven, and had been refreshed by the bread 
of the Lord ; and so he declared publicly before others." 

Anselm's biographer, perhaps he himself in after life, saw 
the hand of providence in his father's harshness to him, 
which no submission could soften, and which at last drove 
him in despair to leave his home, and, after the fashion of 
his countrymen, to seek his fortune in strange lands. Italians, 
especially Lombards,* meet us continually in the records 
and letters of this time as wanderers, adventurers, monks in 
Normandy and even England. He crossed Mont Cenis 
with a single clerk for his attendant, and he did not forget 
the risk and fatigue of the passage. Then following per- 
haps the track of another Italian, Lanfranc of Pavia, he 
came to Normandy, and remained for a time at Avranches, 
where Lanfranc had once taught. Finally he followed Lan- 
franc, now a famous master, to the monastery where he had 
become prior, the newly-founded monastery of Bee. 

[At Bee Anselm rose from being monk to the posts of 
prior and abbot, gathering as years went by a fame for 
learning and for holiness yet greater than that of his prede- 
cessor Lanfranc. It was on a visit to England at the time 
when the Red King lay sick almost to death that William 
named him to the See of Canterbury.] 

When the King's choice was announced to Anselm, he 
trembled and turned pale. The bishops came to bring 

'* People of north Italy. 



ANSELM'S ELECTION. 57 

him to the King, to receive the investiture of the arch- 
bishopric in the customary way, by the deUvery of a pas- 
toral staff. Ansehu absolutely refused to go. Then the 
bishops took him aside from the bystanders, and expostu- 
lated with him. "What did he mean? How could he 
strive against God ? He saw Christianity almost destroyed 
in England, all kinds of wickedness rampant, the churches 
of God nigh dead by this man's tyranny ; and when he 
could help, he scorned to do so." " It is no use," he 
said; "what you propose shall not be." At last they 
dragged him by main force to the sick King's room : 
William, in his anguish and fear, was 'deeply anxious about 
the matter, and entreated him with tears, by the memory of 
his father and mother, who had been Anselm's friends, to 
deliver their son from the deadly peril in which he stood. 
The sick man's distress moved some of the bystanders, and 
they turned with angry remonstrances on Anselm. " What 
senseless folly this was ! The King could not bear this 
agitation. Anselm was embittering his dying hours ; and 
on him would rest the responsibility of all the mischiefs 
that would follow, if he would not do his part by accept- 
ing the pastoral charge." 

Anselm in his trouble appealed for encouragement to 
two of his monks, Baldwin and Eustace, who were 
with him. '*Ah, my brethren, why do not you help 
me?" "Might it have been the will of God," he used 
to say, speaking of those moments, ' ' I would, if I had 
the choice, gladly have died, rather than been raised to 
the archbishopric." Baldwin could only speak of submit- 
ting to the will of God ; and burst, says Eadmer, into a 
passion of tears, blood gushing from his nostrils. " Alas ! 
your staff is soon broken," said Anselm. Then the king 
bade them all fall at Anselm's feet to implore his 
assent ; he, in his turn, fell down before them, still 



58 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

holding to his refusal. Finally, they lost patience ; they 
were angry with him, and with themselves for their own 
irresolution. The cry arose, " A pastoral staff ! a pastoral 
staff! " They dragged him to the King's bed-side, and held 
out his right arm to receive the staff. But when the King 
presented it, Anselm kept his hand firmly clenched and 
would not take it. They tried by main force to wrench it 
open ; and when he cried out with the pain of their vio- 
lence, they at last held the staff closely pressed against 
his still closed hand. Amid the shouts of the crowd, ^'■Long 
live the Bishop!'' with the Te Detan of the bishops an^ 
clergy, " he was carri'ed, rather than led, to a neighbouring 
church, still crying out. It is nought that ye are doing, it is 
nought that ye are doing." He himself describes the scene 
in a letter to his monks at Bee. " It would have been diffi- 
cult to make out whether madmen were dragging along one 
in his senses, or sane men a madman, save that they were 
chanting, and I, pale with amazement and pain, looked 
more like one dead than alive." 



XIII. 

DEATH OF THE RED KING. 

PALGRAVE. 

[Reluctant as Anselm was to be made Archbishop, when 
once installed in his see he resolutely withstood the king. 
Rufus recovered from his illness only to fall back into his 
old oppression and greed ; but though all others bent to 
him, he could not bend Anselm. His steady rebukes at 
last goad^_d William to drive him from England ; and from 
that day the King's ill rule went on without a check. At 
last Rufus was found slain by an arrow in the New Forest, 
whether by chance or of set purpose was never known.] 



DEATH OF THE RED KING. 59 

On the first day of August, the feast of St. Peter ad 
Vincula, Lammas-Day, Rufus assembled a large and jovial 
party in the leafy lodge of the Lindwood, the Dragon's- 
Wood, the most pleasant of his bowers. — His brother 
Henry, William de Breteuil, Gilbert de Aquila, Gilbert Fitz- 
Richard, Robert Fitz-Hamo, Ralph de Aix, or de Aquis, 
and Walter Tyrrell : together with a vast meisney ^ of the 
Court-followers, Prickers, Verdurers, Ribalds. — Rufus never 
moved unless encircled by the vilest ruffianage. 

Rufus was exuberant in his conversation, boisterous : he 
addressed his conversation to Tyrrell in particular, roughly 
and merrily — insult mingled with whim and familiarity. 
The Chastellain of Poix^ was excited up to the same tone, 
and flouted Rufus in return. He joked to teaze the King, 
mocked him, telling him that whilst all was open and the 
way clear, Breton and Angevine at his commands, he did 
nothing, in spite of all his great words and talk. Rufus 
became more coarse and rude, and, unmindful of any 
national pride which Tyrrell might feel, boasted how he 
would lead his army beyond the Alps, and hold his Court 
at Poitiers next Christmas.^ Tyrrell laughed at such a 
vaunt. "To the Alps, and back again within so short a 
time? — but if ever they submit to the English," continued 
Tyrrell, " an evil death may Frenchman and Burgundian 
die ! " The dialogue began in jest, but ended in anger. 
The ranting words thus passing were marked, repeated, 
perhaps exaggerated. — It should seem that few, if any, of 
the party could be said to have been in a state of sobriety. 

Night closed in, the darkness brought a sudden sadness 
upon the King's heart : when alone, how troubled, how 

^ Company. ^ Walter Tyrrell was a French noble who 

held the castle of Poix. ^ Riifus had won Norinaiidy from 

his brother, and conquered Maine. He hoped to become master 
of all Southern Fra?ice, and perhaps to make his way over the 
Alps. 



6o PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

unhappy was Rufus. In the still of the night, the last night- 
season in which he laid himself down to sleep, but not in 
peace, the attendants were startled by the King's voice ; 
— a bitter cry — a cry for help — a cry for deliverance — he 
had been suddenly awakened by a dreadful dream, as of 
exquisite anguish befalling him in a ruined Church at the 
foot of the Maiwood rampart. — No more would he be left 
alone : the extinguished lamps were lighted in the chamber, 
where Rufus impatiently awaited the early morn. 

Dawn broke on Thursday the second of August, 
the morrow of St. Peter ad Vincula : Robert Fitz-Hamo 
entered, hastily, anxious, bearing tidings of a warning 
given through the dream of a holy Monk beyond the sea, 
speaking clearly of great and threatening danger : he there- 
fore earnestly supplicated the King not to hunt for that one 
day. Rufus burst out into a horse-laugh — " He is a Monk ; 
monks dream for money : money let him have — an hundred 
shillings, his fitting guerdon." Rufus showed no signs of 
fear, yet a secret misgiving, unconfessed even to himself, 
weighed upon his soul. Many of the party agreed with 
Fitz-Hamo, and thought caution might be advisable. 
Rufus lingered and paused. It was their custom to hunt in 
the morning-tide, but Rufus postponed the sport till the 
afternoon, and the mid-day banquet was served before him. 
He indulged even more than usual in food and wine : the 
debauch was prolonged till the decline of day, when Rufus 
rose, reeking from the table, and, surrounded by his joyous 
companions, prepared to start. An Armourer presented 
the King with six newly-headed shafts for the deadly arba- 
lest.* Rufus took them, tried them, and selecting the two 
keenest, gave them (as the confused report afterwards pre- 
vailed) to Tyrrell, telling the Chastellain of Poix (according 
to one of the versions which became current) that it was he 
* Crossboiv. 



DEATH OF THE RED KING. 6i 

who deserved the arrow — let that bowman bear the prize 
who can best deal the mortal wound : and others also 
recounted that he afterwards cried out to Tyrrell, Shoot, 
Devil, or, Shoot in the Devil's name. 

Still more delay. Rufus continued in vehement and idle 
talk : the evening was coming on, when Serlo's messenger 
appeared.^ More cause of laughter for Rufus, mixed with 
a nettled feeling of impatient anger: — ''It is strange," 
said he, — "that my Lord Serlo, the wise and discreet, 
should teaze me, tired and harassed as I am with business, 
by transmitting to me such stories and silly dreams. 
Does he think I am an Englishman who will put off a 
journey for an old wife's fancy, a token or a sign?" — He 
rose hastily : the saddled steed was brought. Rufus, 
placing his foot in the great stirrup, vaulted on his courser : 
the Hunters now dispersed, Henry in one direction, William 
de Breteuil in another, Rufus in a third, dashing on towards 
the depths of the Forest, through the chequered gleams of 
transparent green, the lengthened lines of cheerful shade, 
the huge stems shining in the golden light of the setting 
sun. 

No man ever owned that he had spoken afterwards 
to Rufus — no man owned to having again heard the voice 
of Rufus, except in the inarticulate agonies of death. 
Separated unaccountably from his suite and companions, 
Robert Fitz-Hamo and Gilbert de Aquila found him ex- 
piring — stretched on the ground, within the walls of the 
ruined Church, just below the Malwood Castle, transpierced 
by the shaft of a Norman arbalest, the blood gurgling in 
his throat. 

It is said they tried to pray with him, but in vain. Forth- 
with ensued a general dispersion — Hunters and Huntsmen, 

^ The Abbot Serlo had dreained of the King's death, aitdsent to 
warn him. 



62 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Earl and Churl, scattering in every direction. It seemed as 
if the intelligence sounded out of the ground throughout 
the Forest. At the same time a consentaneous outcry arose, 
no one can tell how it began, that Walter Tyrrell had slain 
the King. All the ruffian soldiery, the ribalds, the villain- 
ous and polluted Court-retainers, who surrounded Rufus, 
vowing vengeance against the Traitor, began a hot pursuit : 
but while they were chafing and scurrying after Tyrrell, many 
would have protected him ; either believing in his innocence, 
or rejoicing in the deed. Tyrrell fled as for his life, and 
crossing the river, at the ford which bears his name, he 
baffled his pursuers. A yearly rent, payable into the 
Exchequer by the Lord of the Manor through which the 
water flows, is traditionally supposed to have been the fine 
imposed for the negligence in permitting the escape of the 
accused Murderer. Be this as it may, Tyrrell received no 
further impediment, and passing over to France, he settled 
■in his Seigneury of Poix, where he lived long, honoured 
and respected ; but though holding (as it is supposed) lands 
in Essex, and connected by marriage with the Giffords, he 
never returned again to England. 



XIV. 

THE BLENDING OF CONQUERORS AND CONQUERED. 

GREEN. 

[On the Red King's death the English throne was seized 
by his younger brother, Henry the First. With him the 
disorder and oppression under which England had suf- 
fered, came to an end. His rule was as stern as that of 
his father, but it was just and orderly, and secured peace 



BLENDING OF CONQUERORS AND CONQUERED. 63 

and justice for the people through a reign of thirty years. 
In this long period of rest the Normans and Englishmen 
drew quietly and unconsciously together into one people, 
and all distinction of conquerors and conquered was lost. 
Henry himself led the way in this fusion of the two races 
by his marriage with Matilda, a daughter of the Scottish 
King by his English wife, and thus a representative of 
the old English royal blood.] 

On his accession Henry promised to restore the law of 
Eadward the Confessor, in other words, the old constitution 
of the realm, with the changes which his father ^ had intro- 
duced. His marriage gave a significance to these promises 
which the meanest English peasant could understand. 
Edith, or Matilda, was the daughter of King Malcolm of 
Scotland and of Margaret, the sister of Eadgar ^theling. 
She had been brought up in the nunnery of Romsey by its 
abbess, her aunt Christina, and the veil^ which she had taken 
there formed an obstacle to her union with the King, which 
was only removed by the wisdom of Anslem. The Arch- 
bishop's recall had been one of Henry's first acts after his 
accession, and Matilda appeared before his court to tell 
her tale in words of passionate earnestness. She had been 
veiled in her childhood, she asserted, only to save her from 
the insults of the rude soldiery who infested the land,^ had 
flung the veil from her again and again, and had yielded at 
last to the unwomanly taunts, the actual blows of her aunt. 
"As often as I stood in her presence," the girl pleaded 
passionately to the saintly Primate, " I wore the veil, trem- 
bling as I wore it with indignation and grief. But as soon 
as I could get out of her sight I used to snatch it from my 
head, fling it on the ground, and trample it under foot. 

^ Williai7i the Conqueror. ^ Takinf^ the veil was the 

ceremony by which a woman became a nun. ^ At the tii7ie 

of the Conquest andduriftg the reign of Rufus. 



64 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

That was the way, and none other, in which I was veiled." 
Anslem at once declared her free from conventual bonds, 
and the shout of the English multitude when he set the 
crown on Matilda's brow drowned the murmur of Church- 
man or of baron. The taunts of the Norman nobles, who 
nicknamed the King and his spouse in irony Godric and 
Godfigu, were lost in the joy of the people at large. For 
the first time since the Conquest an English sovereign sat 
on the English throne. The blood of Cerdic ^ and Alfred 
was to blend itself with that of Rolf ^ and the Conqueror. 
It was impossible that the two peoples should henceforth 
be severed from one another, and their fusion proceeded so 
rapidly that the name of Norman had passed away at the 
accession of Henry the Second, and the descendants of the 
victors at Senlac ^ boasted themselves to be Englishmen. 

We can dimly trace the progress of this blending of the 
two races together in. the case of the burgher population in 
the towns. 

One immediate result of the Conquest had been a great 
immigration into England from the Continent. A peaceful 
invasion of the industrial and trading classes of Normandy 
followed quick on the conquest of the Norman soldiery. 
Every Norman noble as he quartered himself upon English 
lands, every Norman abbot as he entered his English cloister, 
gathered French artists or French domestics around his new 
castle or his new church. Around the Abbey of Battle, 
for instance, which William "^ had founded on the site of his 
great victory, "Gilbert the Foreigner, Gilbert the Weaver, 
Benet the Steward, Hugh the Secretary, Baldwin the Tailor," 
mixed with the English tenantry. More especially was this 



* Fhe conqueror of Wessex and head of the lines oj west- j 
Saxon kings. ° The conqiteror of Normandy and ancestor J| 

of its dukes, 6 Qj. tji^ (cattle of Hastings. ^ The ■ ^ 



BLENDING OF CONQUERORS AND CONQUERED. 65 

the case with the capital. Long before the landing of WilUam 
the Normans had had mercantile establishments in London. 
Their settlement would naturally have remained a mere 
trading colony, but London had no sooner submitted to 
the Conqueror than "many of the citizens of Rouen and 
Caen ^ passed over thither, preferring to be dwellers in this 
city, inasm.uch as it was fitter for their trading, and better 
stored v.'ith the merchandise in which they were wont to 
traffic." At Norwich and elsewhere the French colony iso- 
lated itself in a separate French town, side by side with 
the English borough. In London it seems to have taken at 
once the position of a governing class. The name of Gilbert 
Beket, the father of the famous Archbishop, is one of the 
few that remain to us of the Portreeves^ of London, the 
predecessors of its mayors ; he held in Stephen's time a 
large property in houses within the walls, and a proof of 
his civic importance was preserved in the annual visit of 
each newly-elected chief magistrate to his tomb in the little 
chapel which he had founded in the churchyard of St. 
Paul's. Yet Gilbert was one of the Norman strangers who 
followed in the wake of the ' Conqueror ; he was by birth a 
burgher of Rouen, as his wife was of a burgher family from 
Caen. 

It was partly to this infusion of foreign blood, partly no 
doubt to the long internal peace and order secured by the 
Norman rule, that the English towns owed the wealth and 
importance to which they attained during the reign of Henry 
the First. In the silent growth and elevation of the English 
people the boroughs led the way : unnoticed and despised 
by prelate and noble, they had alone preserved the full 
tradition of Teutonic liberty. The rights of self-government, 

^ The chief towns of Norinandy. ^' Po?'t' reeve, the reeve or 
royal officer over a ^* port''' or town; as she7'iff or shire-reeve is 
the royal officer over a county or shire. 



66 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

of free speech in free meeting, of equal justice by one's 
equals, were brought safely across the ages of Norman 
tyranny by the traders and shopkeepers of the towns. In 
the quiet, quaintly-named streets, in town-mead and market- 
place, in the lord's milH beside the stream, in the bell 
which swung out its summons to the crowded borough-mote,^ 
in the jealousies of craftsmen and gilds,^ lay the real life of 
Englishmen, the life of their home and trade, their ceaseless, 
sober struggle with oppression, their steady, unwearied battle 
for self-government. It is difficult to trace the steps by 
which borough after borough won its freedom. The bulk 
of them were situated in the royal demesne,^^ and, like other 
tenants, their customary rents were collected and justice 
administered by a royal officer. Amongst such towns London 
stood chief, and the charter which Henry granted it became 
ths model for the rest. The King yielded the citizens the 
right of justice ; every townsman could claim to be tried 
by his fellow-townsmen in the town-courts or hustings, 
whose sessions took place every week. They were subject 
onl) to the old English trial by oath, and exempt from the 
trial by battle, which the Normans had introduced. Their 
trade was protected from toll or exaction over the length 
and breadth of the land. 

The King however still nominated, in London and else- 
where, the Portreeve, or magistrate of the town, nor M^ere 
the citizens as yet united together in a commune or cor- 
poration ; but an imperfect civic organization existed in the 
"wards" or quarters of the town, each governed by its own 
alderman, and in the "gilds" or voluntary associations of 
merchants or traders which ensured order and mutual pro- 

7 Men were .forced to carry their wheat to be g7'otmd at their 
lorcCs mill. ^ Meeting of the toiunsmenfor self-government. 

9 Trade cojnpanies. ^^ Land where no noble but the king 

was lord. 



BLENDING OF CONQUERORS AND CONQUERED. 67 

tection for their members. Loose too as these bonds may 
seem, they were drawn firmly together by the older English 
traditions of freedom which the towns preserved. In Lon- 
don, for instance, the burgesses gathered in town-mote 
when the bell swung out from St. Paul's to deliberate^ freely 
on their own affairs under the presidency of their aldermen. 
Here too they mustered in arms, if dangers threatened the 
city, and delivered the city-banner to their captain, the 
Norman baron Fitz-Walter, to lead them against the enemy. 
Few boroughs had as yet attained to power such as this, 
but charter after charter during Henry's reign raised the 
townsmen of boroughs from mere traders, wholly at the 
mercy of their lord, into customary tenants,ii who had pur- 
chased their freedom by a fixed rent, regulated their own 
trade, and enjoyed exemption from all but their own 
justice. 

The advance of towns which had grown up not on the 
royal demesne, but around abbey or castle, was slower and 
more difficult. The story of Bury St. Edmund's shows how 
gradual was the transition from pure serfage to an imperfect 
freedom. Much that was plough-land there in the time of 
the Confessor w^as covered with houses under the Norman^ 
rule. The building of the great abbey-church drew its 
craftsmen and masons to mingle with the ploughmen and 
reapers of the abbot's demesne. The troubles of the time 
helped here as elsewhere the progress of the town ; serfs, 
fugitives from justice or their lord, the trader, the Jew, 
naturally sought shelter under the strong hand of St. 
Edmund. But the settlers were wholly at the abbot's m.ercy. 
Not a settler but w^as bound to pay his pence to the abbot's 
treasury, to plough a rood of his land, to reap in his harvest 
field, to fold his sheep in the abbey folds, to help to bring the 

^^ Tenants secure of their holding so long as they paid the 
aistomary services in labour or dues in money. 



68 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

annual catch of eels from the abbey waters. Within the 
four crosses that bounded the abbot's domain, land and 
water were his ; the cattle of the townsmen paid for their 
pasture on the common ; if the fullers refused the loan of 
their cloth, the cellarer ^^ would refuse the use of the stream, 
and seize their looms wherever he found them. No toll 
might be levied from tenants of the abbey farms, and cus- 
tomers had to wait before shop and stall till the buyers of 
the abbot had had the pick of the market. There was little 
chance of redress, for if burghers complained in the folk- 
mote, it was before the abbot's officers that its meeting was 
held ; if they appealed to the alderman, he was the abbot's 
nominee, and received the horn, the symbol of his office, at 
the abbot's hands. Like all the greater revolutions of society, 
the advance from this mere serfage was a silent one ; indeed 
its more galling instances of oppression seem to have slipped 
unconsciously away. Some, like the eel-fishing, were com- 
muted for an easy rent; others, like the slavery of the 
fullers and the toll of flax, simply disappeared. By usage, 
by omission, by downright forgetfulness, here by a little 
struggle, there by a present to a needy abbot, the town won 
freedom. 

The moral revolution which events like this indicate was 
backed by a religious revival which forms a marked feature 
in the reign of Henry the First. Pious, learned, and ener- 
getic as the bishops of William's ^^ appointment had been, 
they were not Englishmen. Till Beket's time no English- 
man occupied the throne of Canterbury ; till Jocelyn, in the 
reign of John, no Englishman occupied the see of Wells. 
In language, in manner, in sympathy, the higher clergy were 
thus completely severed from the lower priesthood and the 
people, and the whole influence of the Church, constitutional 

^2 The officer of the abbey who dealt with its tena7its. 
^•^ The Conqtiei-oi''s. 



BLENDING OF CONQUERORS AND CONQUERED. 69 

as well as religiouSj was for the moment paralyzed. Lanfranc 
indeed exercized a great personal influence over William ; 
but Anselm stood alone against Rufus, and no other voice 
of ecclesiastical' freedom broke the silence of the reign of 
Henry the First. But at the close of the latter reign and 
throughout that of Stephen, ^^ the people, left thus without 
shepherds, was stirred by the first of those great religious 
movements which England was to experience afterwards in 
the preaching of the Friars, the Lollardism of Wyclif, the 
Reformation, the Puritan enthusiasm, and the mission-work 
of the Wesleys. Everywhere in town and country men 
banded themselves together for prayer, hermits flocked 
to tlie woods, noble and churP^ welcomed the austere 
Cistercians, a reformed outshoot of the Benedictine order, 
as they spread over the moors and forests of the North. A 
new spirit of devotion woke the slumber of the religious 
houses, and penetrated alike to the home of the noble 
Walter d'Espec at Rievaulx, or of the trader Gilbert Beket 
in Cheapside. 

London took its full share in the great revival. The city 
was proud of its religion, its thirteen conventual and more 
than a hundred parochial churches. The new impulse 
changed, in fact, its very aspect. In the midst of the city 
Bishop Jlichard busied himself with the vast cathedral ^^^ 
which Bishop Maurice had begun ; barges came up the river 
with stone from Caen for the great arches that moved the 
popular wonder, while street and lane were being levelled 
to make space for the famous churchyard of St. Paul's. 
Rahere, the King's minstrel, raised the priory of St. Bar- 
tholomew beside Smithfield, Alfune built St. Giles's at 
Cripplegate. The old English Cnihtena-gild surrendered 



^* Stephen succeeded Henry the First. 1^ Labourer, 

1° Of St. Paul. 



70 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

their soke ^" of Aldgate as a site for the new priory of the 
Holy Trinity. The tale of this house paints admirably the 
temper of the citizens at this time. Its founder, Prior 
Norman, had built qhurch and cloister and bought books 
and vestments in so liberal a fashion that at last no money 
remained to buy bread. The canons were at their last gasp 
when many of the city folk, looking into the refectory as 
they paced round the cloisters in their usual Sunday pro- 
cession, sav/ the tables laid, but not a single loaf on them. 
"Here is a fine set-out," cried the citizens, "but where is 
the bread to come from?" The women present vowed to 
bring a loaf every Sunday, and there was soon bread enough 
and to spare for the priory and its guests. We see the 
strength of the new movement in the new class of ecclesi- 
astics that it forces on the stage ; men like Anslem or John 
of Salisbury, or the two great prelates who followed one 
another after Henry's death in the See of Canterbury, 
Theobald and Thomas, derived whatever might they pos- 
sessed from sheer holiness of life or unselfishness of aim. 
The revival left its stamp on the fabric of the constitution 
itself; the paralysis of the Church ceased as the new im- 
pulse bound the prelacy and people together, and its action, 
when at the end of Henry's reign it started into a power 
strong enough to save England from anarchy, has been 
felt in our history ever since. 

^^ A piece ofg?-oiind held on iervis of military service. 



BATTLE OF THE STANDARD. 71 

XV. 

BATTLE OF THE STANDARD. 
THIERRY. 

[The progress of the country was broken by the death of 
Henry the First, and by the long strife for the crown 
which followed it between his nephew Stephen and his 
daughter Matilda. But even in the midst of the anarchy 
which this strife brought about, the union of Norman and 
Englishmen into a single and united people was seen in 
the gathering of all the men of Yorkshire and the North 
to withstand an invasion of the Scots. David, King of 
Scotland, was Matilda's uncle; and under pretext of 
supporting her cause he strove to take advantage of the 
weakness of England and to seize all north of the Humber 
for his own. With this end he crossed the border ; and 
cruelly ravaging as he went, at last entered Yorkshire. 
Here however he was met and routed in the Battle of the 
Standard.] 

In order to rouse their subjects to march with them 
against the Scottish King,^ the Norman barons of the 
North skilfully took advantage of the older superstitions 
of the country's side. They invoked the aid of those 
English saints whom in the early days of the Conquest 
they had treated with contempt, and took them, so to 
say, for the leaders of their army. Archbishop Thurstan ^ 
raised the banners of St. Cuthbert of Durham, of St. Johrx 
of Beverley, and of St. Wilfrid of Ripon. The Standards 
of these popular saints were drawn from their churches 
and carried to North-Allerton, some thirty-two miles to the 
north of York, a spot where the Norman chiefs, William 
Peperel and Walter Espec, had decided to await the enemy's 

^ David. ^ The Archbishop of York, 

4* 



72 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

attack. The Archbishop, who was kept by sickness from the 
field, sent in his place the Bishop of Durham, who had prob- 
ably been driven from his church by the Scotch invasion. 
An instinct, partly of rehgion, partly of patriotism, gathered 
the English inhabitants of the neighbouring towns and 
country round these English banners, raised though they 
were on the field of Allerton by lords of a foreign race. 
The Englishmen no longer bore the battle-axe, which had 
been the favourite arm of their forefathers : they were 
armed with huge bows and long arrows. The change in 
their equipment ^ had been wrought by the Conquest in two 
different ways ; in the first place, those of the English who 
had been forced to serve the Norman Kings in their wars 
for bread and pay had been compelled to train themselves 
in the Norman mode of fighting, while those who, preferring 
a struggle for independence, had become bandits on the 
roads or outlaws in the forest had equally been obliged to 
exchange weapons which were only fitted for hand-to-hand 
combat for arms more capable of reaching from afar the 
Norman knight or a king's deer. As the children both of 
one and of the other had been from their boyhood trained 
in the use of the bow, England had in less than a cen- 
tury become a country of good archers, as Scotland was 
a country of good spearmen. 

While the Scotch army crossed the Tees, the Norman 
barons were actively preparing to receive its attack. On 
a platform supported by four wheels they raised a ship's 
mast, on whose top was placed a small silver pyx, which 
contained the consecrated host, while from the mast hunsr 



3 The bow was originally a purely Norman weapojt, and to it 
William the Co7iqueror owed his victory at Hastings. The old 
Etigli'ih weapons were the sword and la?icej the Danes introduced 
their broad axe into the English equipment; with the No?inans 
came the bow. 



BATTLE OF THE STANDARD. 73 

those banners of the saints which were intended to rouse 
the EngHshmen to fight hard. This Standard, one of a kind 
very common in the middle ages, occupied the centre of 
the line of battle. The Anglo-Norman knighthood took 
pr«st about it after having been leagued by a solemn oath 
in which they swore to hold together for the defence of 
the land, whether in life or in death. The Saxon archers 
formed the wings and advanced guard of the army. 

I'he Scottish host, whose Standard was nothing but a 
banner borne upon a spear, marched to the field in several 
distinct bodies. Their King's young son, Henry, com- 
manded the men of the Lowlands and the Englishmen of 
Cumberland and of Northumberland f the Scotch King 
himself was at the head of the Highland clans and of the 
men of the Western Isles ; while knights of Norman birth, 
armed from head to foot, formed his body-guard.^ One of 
these, named Robert the Bruce, an old man, who, though 
he held his fief in Annandale from the Scottish King, had 
no personal motive of enmity against his fellow-barons in 
England, drew near to David at the moment when he was 
going to give the signal for attack, and said to him, with a 
look of sorrow, " Have you thought well. Sir King, against 
whom you are going to fight ? It is against Normans and 
Englishmen, the men who have always served you so well, 
whether in arms or at the council-board, and who have 
succeeded in making your own peoples obey yoij. Do you 

* Cumberland was held by the Scotch Kin^ as ajief, or grant, 
on term's of military tenure^ from the English sovereigti. North- 
U7nberland he had overrun^ and pressed its men into his host. 

° Under David, many Noi'man nobles had been draivjt to the 
Scottish court, and had received grants of land on condition of 
serving the Scottish king in war. Englishmen also had received 
like grants on like terms ; and it was on the aid of this 
knighthood that David depended for support against the native 
Highlanders and Galloway men, whom it was haj'd to hold in 
obedience. 



74 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

hold yourself so sure, then, of the submission of those clans, 
or hope you to hold them to their duty with no other sup- 
port than your Scotch men-of-arms? But remember that 
it was we Normans who first put them in your power, and 
that it is from this that the hate springs which nerves them 
to attack our fellow Normans." 

The words of Bruce seemed to make a great impres- 
sion on the King, but his nephew, WilHam, cried with 
impatience, " Those are a traitor's words ! " and the old 
baron met the affront by renouncing, in the usual terms, 
his oath of fealty and homage to David, and by spurring 
at once into the camp of his enemies. Then the High- 
landers who surrounded the Scottish King shouted aloud 
the old name of their country, "Alban! Alban ! " The 
shout was the signal for the combat. The men of Cum- 
berland, of Liddesdale, and of Teviotdale^ made a strong 
and quick onset on the centre of the Norman line, and, 
as an old chronicler tells us, broke it like a spider's web ; 
but they were ill-supported by the other Scotch troops, 
and failed to make their way to the Standard. Round 
this the Anglo-Normans re-formed their ranks, and drove 
back their assailants with heavy loss. The first charge 
was followed by a second one, in which the long lances 
of the men from the south-west of Scotland'^ broke fruit- 
lessly against the iron mail and the shields of the Norman 
knighthood. Then the Highlanders drew in their two- 
handed swords, rushed forward for a hand-to-hand engage- 
ment ; but the English archers wheeling on their flanks 
riddled them with a flight of arrows, while the Norman 
horsemen, in serried line and with lances at rest, charged 
their front. Valiant as they were, tlie clansmen were ill 
fitted for a regular engagement, and from the moment that 

^ Liddesdale 07i the western border of Scotlajid; Teviotdale on 
the easier f I. "^ The 7nen of Galloway. 



THOMAS THE CHANCELLOR. 7S 

they felt themselves unable to pierce the ranks of the 
enemy, they broke in disorder. The whole of the Scotch 
army was now forced to give way, and fell back as fat as 
the Tyne. 



XVI. 

THOMAS THE CHANCELLOR. 
MISS YONGE. 

[After twenty years of terrible suffering, the death of Stephen 
brought peace to the realm. Matilda had long since 
withdrawn from the strife, and waived her claim in favour 
of her son Henry. Henry had already inherited the 
French counties of Anjou and Maine from his father, 
Geoffry Plantagenet ; he married Eleanor, the Duchess of 
Aquitaine, and thus became virtually master of nearly all 
Southern France ; he was Duke of Normandy in right of 
his mother, and his accession to the throne of England 
on Stephen's death made him one of the greatest sove- 
reigns in the world of his day. But great as was his 
• power, his ability was yet greater. He had no sooner 

. become king than he put an end to the disorder which 
had so long reigned in England ; subduing the barons, 
driving out the foreign soldiery, forcing all to keep good 
peace, and carrying justice through all the realm. In 
this work he was aided by the genius of his Chancellor, 
Thomas Becket, the son of a London trader of Norman 
blood, but whose ability raised him to the highest posts 
in Church and State.] 

Thomas received a clerkly education from the canons of 
Merton,^and showed such rare ability that his family deemed 
him destined for great things. He was very tall and hand- 
some, with aquiline nose, quick eyes, and long slender, 

1 A religious house in Surrey. 



76 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

beautiful hands ; and he was very vigorous and athletic, 
delighting in the manly sports of the young men of his time. 
In his boyhood, while he was out hawking with a knight who 
used to lodge in his father's house when he came to London, 
he was exposed to a serious danger. They came to a nar- 
row bridge, fit only for foot-passengers, with a mill-wheel 
just below. The knight nevertheless rode across the bridge, 
and Thomas was following when his horse, making a false 
step, fell into the river. The boy could swim, but would 
not make for the bank without rescuing the hawk that had 
shared his fall, and thus was drawn by the current under 
the wheel, and in another moment would have been torn to 
pieces, had not the miller stopped the machinery and 
pulled him out of the water more dead than alive. 

It seems that it was the practice for wealthy merchants to 
lodge their customers when brought to London by business, 
and thus young Thomas became known to several persons 
of high estimation in their several stations. A rich mer- 
chant called Osborn gave him his accounts to keep ; knights 
noticed his riding, and dukes his learning and religious 
life. Some of the clergy of Theobald, Archbishop of 
Canterbury, who were among these guests, were desirous of 
presenting Thomas to their master. He at first held back, 
but they at length prevailed with him : he became a member 
of the Archbishop' s household, and after he had improved 
himself in learning, was ordained deacon, and presented 
with the Archdeaconry of Canterbury, an oftice which was 
then by no means similar to what we at present call by that 
name. It really then meant being chief of the deacons, 
and involved the being counsellor and, in a manner, trea- 
surer to the bishop of the diocese ; and thus to be Arcli- 
deacon of Canteibury was the highest ecclesiastical dignity 
in the kingdom next to that of the prelates and great 
mitred abbots. 



THOMAS THE CHANCELLOR. 77 

Thomas Becket was a secular clerk, bound by none of 
the vows of monastic orders, and therefore though he led a 
strictly pure and self-denying life, he did not consider him- 
self obliged to abstain from worldly business or amusements, 
and in the year 1155 he was appointed Chancellor by 
Henry II. He was then in his thirty-eighth year, of great 
ability and cultivation, graceful in demeanour, ready of 
speech, clear in mind, and his tall frame (reported to have 
been no less than six feet two in height) fitting him for 
martial exercise and bodily exertion. The King, a youth of 
little past twenty, delightmg in ability wherever he found 
it, became much attached to his gallant Chancellor, and not 
only sought his advice in the regulation of England after its 
long troubles, but when business was done they used to 
play together like two schoolboys. It must have been a 
curious scene in the hall of Chancellor Thomas, when at the 
daily meal earls and barons sat round his table, and knights 
and nobles crowded so thickly at the others that the benches 
were not sufficient, and the floor was daily strewn with hay 
or straw in winter, or in summer with green boughs that 
those who sat on it might not soil tlieir robes. Gold and 
silver dishes, and goblets, and the richest wines were pro- 
vided, and the choicest, most costly viands were purchased 
at any price by his servants for these entertainments : they 
even gave a hundred shillings for a dish of eels. But the 
Chancellor seldom touched these delicacies, living on the 
plainest fare as he sat in his place as the host, answering the 
pledges of his guests, amusing them with his converse, and 
providing minstrelsy and sports of all kinds for their re- 
creation. Often the King would ride into the hall in the 
midst of the gay crowd seated on the floor, throw himself 
off his horse, leap over the table, and join in the mirth. 

These rich feasts afforded afterwards plentiful alms for 
the poor, who were never forgotten in the height of Becket 's 



78 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

magnificence, and the widow and the oppressed never failed 
to find a protector in the Chancellor. 

His house was full of young squires and pages, the sons 
of the nobility, who placed them there as the best school of 
knighthood; and among them was the King's own son 
Henry, who had been made his pupil. The King seems 
to have been very apt to laugh at Becket for his strict life 
and overflowing charity. One very cold day, as they were 
riding, they met an old man in a thin ragged coat. " Poor 
old man ! '^ cried Henry, ''would it not be a charity to give 
him a good warm cloak ? " " It would indeed," said Becket ; 
^'you had better keep the matter in mind." *'No, no, it is 
you that shall have the credit of this great act of charity," 
said Henry, laughing. " Ha, old man, should you not like 
this fine warm cloak ? " and with these words he began to 
pull at the scarlet and grey mantle which the Chancellor 
wore. Becket struggled for it, and in this rough sport they 
were both nearly pulled off their horses, till the cloak gave 
way, and the King triumphantly tossed his prize to the 
astonished old man. 

The Chancellor was in the habit of daily giving more costly 
gifts than these both to rich and poor; gold and silver, 
robes and jewels, fine armour and horses, hawks and hounds, 
even fine new ships were bestowed by him, from the wealth 
of the old merchant Gilbert, as well as from the revenues 
of his archdeaconry, and of several other benefices, which 
the lax opinions of his time caused him to think no shame 
to keep in his own hands. 

We cannot call Thomas Becket by any means a perfect 
character ; but thoroughly conscientious he must ever have 
been, and very self-denying, keeping himself free from every 
stain in the midst of the court, and guarding himself by 
strict discipline. He was found to be in the habit of sleep- 
ingf on the bare boards beside his rich bed, and in secret he 



THOMAS THE CHANCELLOR. 79 

wore sackcloth, and submitted to the lash of penance. His 
uprightness and incorruptibility as a judge, his wisdom in 
administering the affairs of State, and his skill in restoring 
peace to England, made the reign of Henry Plantagenet 
a relief indeed to his subjects, In almost every respect he 
lived like a layman. He hunted and hawked, and was 
found fault with by the Prior of Leicester for wearing a 
cape with sleeves, which it seems was an unclerical gar- 
ment. The Prior said it was more unsuitable in one who 
held so many ecclesiastical preferments, and was likely to 
become Archbishop of Canterbury. To this Thomas an- 
swered : " I know of four priests, each of whom I would 
rather see Archbishop than myself. If I had that rank I 
know full well I must either lose the King's favour, or set 
aside my duty to God." 

When Henry went to war with France respecting the 
inheritance of Eleanor of Aquitaine, his wife, the Chancellor 
brought to his aid seven hundred knights of his own house- 
hold, besides twelve hundred in his pay, and four thousand 
foot soldiers. He fed the knights themselves at his own 
table, and paid them each three shillings a day for the sup- 
port of their squires and horses ; and he himself commanded 
them, wearing armour, and riding at their head. He kept 
them together by the sound of a long slender trumpet, such 
as was then used, only by his own band ; and in combat he 
showed himself strong and dexterous in the use of lance 
and sword, winning great admiration and respect even from 
the enemy. 

Henry resolved to come to a treaty, and to seal it by 
asking the King of France, Louis le Jeune, to give his 
daughter Margaret in marriage to Henry,- the heir of England. 
Becket was sent on this embassy, and the splendour of his 
equipment was such as might become its importance. Two 
2 The English Kin^^s eldest son. 



8o PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

hundred men on horseback, in armour or gay robes, were 
his immediate followers, and with them came eight waggons, 
each drawn by five horses, a groom walking beside each 
horse, and a driver and guard to each waggon, besides a 
large fierce dog chained beneath each. The waggons carried 
provisions and garments, and furniture for the night : two 
were filled with ale for the French, who much admired that 
English liquor; another was fitted up as a kitchen, and 
another for a chapel. There were twelve sumpter-horses 
carrying smaller articles, and on the back of each of these 
sat a long-tailed ape ! Dogs and hawks with their attendants 
accompanied the procession, the whole marshalled in regular 
order, the men singing as they went ; and the impression on 
the minds of all beholders was, " If such was the Chancellor, 
what must be the King ! " 

At Paris all these riches were given away ; and so resolved 
was Becket to keep up his character for munificence that he 
did not choose to be maintained at the expense of the 
French King; and when Louis, v/ishing to force him into 
being his guest, sent orders to the markets round to sell 
nothing to the English Chancellor, his attendants disguised 
themselves and bought up all the provisions in the neigh- 
bourhood. King Louis acquired a great esteem and ad- 
miration for the Chancellor, and willingly granted his 
request, betrothing Margaret, who was only seven years old, 
to Prince Henry. She, as well as her little husband, 
became Becket's pupil by desire of King Henry, and she at 
least never seems to have lost her attachment to him. 

The time Becket dreaded came. The good old peaceable 
Archbishop Theobald died in 1162, and Henry, who was 
then at Falaise,^ ordered his Chancellor to England osten- 
sibly to settle a disturbance in the western counties, but in 
reality, as he declared in a private interview, that he might 
2 Ik Normandy. 



THE MURDER OF BECKET. 8l 

be elected to the primacy. Becket smiled,, and pointing to 
his gay robes said, ''You are choosing a pretty dress to 
figure at the head of your monks at Canterbury. If you do 
as you say, my lord, you will soon hate me as much as you 
love me now, for you assume an authority in Church affairs 
to which I shall not consent, and there will be plenty of 
persons to stir up strife between us." Henry did not heed 
the warning, and King, Bishops, and the Chapter of 
Canterbury unanimously chose Becket as Archbishop. 



XVII. 

THE MURDER OK BECKET. 
STANLEY. 

[The struggle which Becket foresaw was quick to come. 
Henry's passion was for law and for the enforcement of 
the same order and justice through every class of society. 
By the custom of the time no Churchman was subject to 
the King's justice ; every cleric was judged by his bishop, 
and subjected only to spiritual penalties for a crime, if 
convicted of it. This brought great disorders ; and 
Henry had raised Becket to the Archbishoprick, believing 
that he would join him in putting an end to it. . Becket 
however saw the danger of putting all men alike under 
the King's absolute control, and refused his assent to the 
plan. A long and bitter strife began between them, v/hich 
only ended after some years in a seeming reconciliation, 
that allowed Becket to return from banishment. But 
he was no sooner in England than the King's wrath was 
kindled anew against him ; and four knights swore to 
avenge Henry on his enemy, crossed the sea, made their 
way to Canterbury, and threatened Becket with death. 
He was drawn into the church by the frightened monks, 
and found there by the knights who murdered him.] 



82 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

The vespers 1 had already begun, and the monks were 
singing the service in the choir, when two boys rushed 
Lip the nave announcing more by their terrified gestures 
than by their words that the soldiers were bursting into 
the palace ^ and monastery. Instantly the cathedral ^ was 
thrown into the utmost confusion ; part ^ remained at prayer, 
part fled into the numerous hiding-places the vast fabric 
affords ; and part went down the steps of the choir into the 
transept, to meet the little band at the door. ''Come ii;, 
come in ! " exclaimed one of them, " come in ; let us die 
together." The Archbishop continu'ed to stand outside; 
and said, "Go and finish the service. So long as you keep 
in the entrance I shall not come in." They withdrew a few 
paces, and he stepped within the door; but finding the 
whole place thronged with people, he paused on the thres- 
hold and asked, ''What is it that all these people fear?" 
One general answer broke forth, " The armed men in the 
cloister." As he turned and said, "I shall go out to them," 
he heard the clash of arms behind. TJie knights ^ had just 
forced their way through the door from the palace to the 
monastery, and were advancing along the northern side of 
the cloister. They were in mail,^ with their vizors down, 
and carried their swords drawn. Three had hatchets. 
Fitzurse, with the axe he had taken from the carpenters " was 
foremost, shouting as he came, " Here, here, king's men ! " 
Immediately behind followed four other knights and a 
motley group — some their own followers, some from the 
town — with weapons, though not in armour, brought up the 
rear. At this sight, so unwonted in the peaceful cloisters 

"^ Eve7iing service. ^ Of tJie Archbishop. ^ Of Can- 

terhiry. ^ Of the monks luoj'shipping. ^ Reginald 

Fitzurse^ Williajn Tracy, Hugh of Morville. and William 
JJrito. ^ Armed in iro7i coats of mail. Vizors^ the moveable 

part of the hel?nef, covering the face. ^ xhe knights f&iind 

so7ne carpenters at work in the monastery, and took their axe. 



THE MURDER OF BECKET. 83 

of Canterbury, not probably beheld since the time when 
the monastery was sacked by the Danes, the monks within, 
regardless of all remonstrance, shut the great door of the 
cathedral,^ and proceeded to barricade it with iron bars. A 
loud knocking was heard from the terrified band without, 
who, having vainly endeavoured to prevent the entrance of 
the knights into the cloister, now rushed before them to 
take refuge in the church. Becket, who had stepped some 
paces into the cathedral, but was resisting the solicitations 
of those immediately about him to remove up into the choir 
for safety, darted back, calling as he went, '^ Away, you 
cowards ! by virtue of your obedience I command you not 
to shut the door — the church must not be turned into a 
castle." With his own hands he thrust them from the door, 
opened it himself, and catching hold of the excluded monks, 
dragged them into the building, exclaiming, "Come in, 
come in — faster, faster ! " 

At this moment the ecclesiastics, who had hitherto clung 
round him, fled in every direction ; some to the altars in the 
numerous side chapels, some to the secret chambers with 
which the walls and roof of the cathedral are filled. Even 
John of Salisbury, his tried and faithful counsellor, escaped 
with the rest. Three only remamed — Robert, canon of 
Merton, his old instructor ; William Fitzstephen (if we may 
believe his own account), his lively and worldly-minded 
chaplain ; and Edward Grim the monk, who had joined his 
household only a few days, but who had been with him once 
before, on the memorable day when he signed the Constitu- 
tions of Clarendon,^ and had ventured to rebuke him for 
the act. Two hiding-places had been specially pointed out 
to the Archbishop, one was the venerable crypt of the church, 
with its many dark recesses and chapels, to which a door, 

^ Ope7tino from the cloister. ^ Tji which Hetiry's plan 

ivas embodied. 



§4 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

then as now, opened immediately from the spot where he 
stood ; the other wa.s the chapel of St. Blaize in the roof, 
itself communicating with the triforium ^*^ of the cathedral, 
arid to which there was a ready access through a staircase 
cut in the thickness of the wall at the corner of the 
transept. But he positively refused. A last resource re- 
mained to the staunch trio who formed his body-guard. 
They urged him to ascend to the choir ; and hurried him, 
still resisting, up one of the flights of steps which led from 
the transept. They no doubt considered that the greater 
sacredness of that portion of the church Avould form their best 
protection. Becket gave way, as when he left the palace, 
from the thought flashing across his mind that he would die 
at his post. He would go (such at least was the impression 
on their minds) to the high altar, and perish in the patriarchal 
chair,^^ in which he and all his predecessors from time im- 
memorial had been enthroned. But this was not to be. 

What has taken long to describe must have been com- 
pressed in action within a few minutes. The knights who 
had been checked for a moment by the sight of the closed 
door, on seeing it unexpectedly thrown open, rushed into 
the church. It was, we must remember, about five o'clock 
on a winter evening^^ ; the shades of night were gathering 
round, and were deepened into a still darker gloom within 
the high massive walls of the cathedral, which was only 
illuminated here and there by the solitary lamps that 
burned before the altars. The twilight lengthening from the 
shortest day, which was a fortnight before, was just sufficient 
to reveal the outline of objects, though not enough to show 
any one distinctly. The transept in which the knights found 
themselves was in the same relative position as the existing 

^^ 1 he tipper floor above the side-aisles. ^^ Then placed 

behind the high altar, and overlooking the zuhole chicrch. 
^2 2''he 2gth of December, 



THE MURDER OF BECKET. 85 

portion of the cathedral, still known by the name of the 
"Martyrdom," which it obtained within live years after the 
Primate's death. Its arrangements, however, much more 
closely resembled those which we now see in the correspond- 
ing transept on the southern side. Two staircases led from 
it, one on the east to the northern aisle, one on the west to 
the entrance of the choir. At its south-west corner, where 
it joined the nave, there was the little chapel and altar of 
the Virgin. Its eastern apse was formed by two chapels, 
raised one above the other ; the upper in the roof contain- 
ing the relics of St. Blaize, the first martyr whose bones had 
been brought into the church, and which gave to the chapel 
a peculiar sanctity ; the lower containing the altar of St. 
Benedict, under whose rule from the time of Dunstan the 
monastery had been placed. Before and around this altar 
were the tombs of four Saxon and two Norman archbishops. 
In the centre of the transept was a pillar supporting a gallery 
leading to the chapel of St. Blaize, and hung at great festivals 
with curtains and draperies. 

Such was the outward aspect and such the associations 
of the scene which now perhaps opened for the first time 
on the four soldiers, though the darkness, coupled with their 
eagerness to find their victim, would have prevented them 
from noticing anything more than its prominent features. 
At the moment of their entrance the central pillar exactly 
intercepted their view of the Archbishop ascending (as 
it would appear from this circumstance) the eastern stair- 
case. Fitzurse, with his drawn sword in one hand and the 
carpenter's axe in the other, sprang in first, and turned at 
once to the right of the pillar. The other three went round 
it to the left. They could just discern a group of figures 
mounting the steps, and one of the knights called out to 
them, "Stay!" Another demanded, "Where is Thomas 
Becket, traitor to the King ? " to which no answer was 



86 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

returned. Fitzurse rushed forward, and stumbling against 
one of the monks on the lower step, and still unable to dis- 
tinguish clearly in the darkness, exclaimed, " Where is the 
Archbishop ? " Instantly the answer came — " Reginald, 
here I am ; no traitor, but the Archbishop and Priest of 
God ; what do you wish ? " — and from the fourth step which 
he had reached in his ascent, with a slight motion of his 
head, apparently a gesture of some significance to the monks 
who remembered it, he descended to the transept. Fitz- 
urse sprang back two or three paces, and Becket, passing by 
him, took up his station between the central pillar and the 
massive wall which still forms the south-west corner of what 
was then the chapel of St. Benedict. Here they gathered 
round him, with the cry,^^ " Absolve the bishops whom you 
have excommunicated." " I cannot do other than I have 
done," he replied, and turning to Fitzurse, he added — 
" Reginald, you have received many favours at my hands, 
why do you come into my church armed ?" Fitzurse planted 
the axe against his breast, and returned for answer, ' ' You 
shall die, — I will tear out your heart.'' Another, perhaps 
in kindness, struck him between the shoulders with the flat 
of his sword, exclaiming, "Fly; you are a dead man." 
" I am ready to die," replied the prelate, " for God and the 
Church ; but I warn you in the name of God Almighty to 
let my men escape." 

The well-known horror which in that age was felt at an 
act of sacrilege, together with the sight of the crowds who 
were rushing in from the town through the nave, turned 
their efforts for the next few moments to carrying him out 



^•^ O/i landing in England Becket had excoinmunicated the 
prelates who had joined in croiuning the yoting Henry, Henry 
the Second's sonj as to croivn kings was a privilege of his 
see of Cante7'bnry. This was one of the causes of Henrfs out- 
burst of wrath. 



THE MURDER OF BECKET. 87 

of the church. Fitzurse threw down the axe, and tried to 
drag him out by the collar of his cloak, calling, " Come with 
us — you are our prisoner." " I will not fly, you detestable 
fellow," was the reply of the Archbishop, roused to his usual 
vehemence. The four knights, to whom was now added a 
sub-deacon, Hugh of Horsea, surnamed Mauclerc, chaplain 
of Robert de Broc, struggled violently to put him on 
Tracy's shoulders, but Becket set his back against the 
pillar, and resisted with all his might, whilst Grim threw his 
arms around him to aid his efforts. In the scuffle Becket 
fastened upon Tracy, shook him by his coat of mail, and, 
exerting his great strength, flung him down on the pavement. 
Fitzurse rejoined the fray, with a drawn sword, and, as he 
drev/ near, Becket gave full vent to his anger ; the spirit of 
the Chancellor rose within him, and with a coarse epithet, 
not calculated to turn away his adversary's wrath, he ex- 
claimed, " You profligate wretch, you are my man — you 
have done me fealty^* — you ought not to touch me." Fitz- 
urse, roused to frenzy, retorted — " I owe you no fealty or 
homage, contrary to my fealty to the King," and waving his 
sword over his head, cried, " Strike, strike ! " but merely 
dashed off" the prelate's cap. The Archbishop covered his 
eyes with his joined hands, bent his neck, and said, " I 
commend myself to God, to St. Denys of France, to St. 
Alfege, and to the saints of the Church." Meanwhile 
Tracy, who since his fall had thrown off his hauberk ^^ to 
move more easily, sprang forward and struck a more decided 
blow. Grim, who up to this moment had his arm round 
Becket, threw it up to intercept the blade, Becket exclaim- 
ing, '' Spare this defence." The sword lighted on the arm 
of the monk, which fell wounded or broken ; and he fled 

^^ When a knight did homage, or became '^ man " to a lord, who 
endowed him with lands, he swore to be faithful to him against 
the king. His oath was " doin^ fealty J^ ^^ Body coat of mail, 
5 



88 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

disabled to the nearest altar, probably that of St. Benedict, 
within the chapel. It is a proof of the confusion of the 
scene that Grim, the receiver of the blow, as well as most 
of the narrators, believed it to have been dealt by Fitzurse, 
while Tracy, who is known to have been the man from his 
subsequent boast, believed that the monk whom he had 
wounded was John of Salisbury. 

The spent force of the stroke descended on Becket's head, 
grazed the crown, and finally rested on his left shoulder, 
cutting through the clothes and skin. The next blow, 
whether struck by Tracy or Fitzurse, was only with the flat 
of the sword, and again on the bleeding head, which Becket 
drew back as if stunned, and then raised his clasped hands 
above it. The blood from the first blow was trickling down 
his face in a thin streak ; he wiped it with his arm, and 
when he saw the stain he said — "Into thy hands, O Lord, 
I commend my spirit." At the third blow, which was also 
from Tracy, he sank on his knees — his arms falling — but 
his hands still joined as if in prayer. With his face turned 
towards the altar of St. Benedict he murmured in a low 
voice, which might just have been caught by the wounded 
Grim, who was crouching close by, and who alone reports 
the words — " For the name of Jesus, and the defence of the 
Church, I am willing to die." Without moving hand or 
foot, he fell flat on his face as he spoke, in front of the 
corner wall of the chapel, and with such dignity that his 
mantle, which extended from head to foot, 'was not dis- 
arranged. In this posture he received from Richard the 
Breton a tremendous blow, accompanied with the exclam- 
ation (in allusion to a quarrel of Becket with Earl William) "^^ 
" Take this for love of my Lord William, brother of the 
King." The stroke was aimed with such violence that the 

16 A bastard son of Henry the Second, Earl William of 
Salisbury^ known as William Longsword. 



' 



DEATH OF HENRY THE SECOND. 89 

scalp or crown of the head — which, it was remarked, was 
of unusual size — was severed from the skull, and the sword 
snapped in two on the marble pavement. Hugh of Horsea, 
the sub-deacon who had joined them as they entered the 
church, taunted by the others with having taken no share 
in the deed, planted his foot on the neck of the corpse, 
thrust his sword into the ghastly wound and scattered the 
brains over the pavement. " Let us go, let us go," he said 
in conclusion ; *' the traitor is dead ; he will rise no more." 



XVIII. 

DEATH OF HENRY THE SECOND. 

STUBBS. 

[Brutal as was Becket's murder, Henry was a great and noble 
king. His passion was for justice; and it was he who 
gave our courts of justice the form and shape they have 
preserved to our own day. To England he was a bene- 
ficent ruler; and his faults, great as they were, were so 
terribly punished as to force us to pity. His later years were 
broken with the rebellions of his own sons ; at last his son 
Richard leagued himself with the French King, Philip, 
and suddenly attacking his father in Anjou, when bereft of 
troops, drove him from Tours, and forced him to submit 
to a humiliation which brought him to the grave.] 

Henry nerved himself for an interview which he knew 
could have but one issue. Ill as he was, he moved from 
Saumur to Azai, and in the plain of Colombieres met Philip 
and Richard on the day after the capture of Tours. 

Henry, notwithstanding his fistula and his fever, was able 
to sit on horseback. His son Geoffrey ^ had begged leave 

1 Geoffrey was a bastard son of Henry, but faithful to him 
thrcuohout. 



90 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

of absence, that he might not see the humiliation of his 
father ; but many of his other nobles, and probably two of 
his three archbishops, rode beside him. The terms which 
he had come to ratify had been settled beforehand. He 
had but to signify his acceptance of them by word of 
mouth. They met face to face, the unhappy father and the 
undutiful son .2 It was a clear, sultry day, a cloudless sky 
and still air. As the kings ^ advanced towards one another 
a clap of thunder was heard, and each drew back. Again 
they advanced, and again it thundered louder than before. 
Henry, wearied and excited, was ready to faint. His 
attendants held him up on his horse, and so he made his 
submission. He had but one request to make ; it was for 
a list of the conspirators who had joined with Richard to 
forsake and betray him. The list was promised, and he 
returned to Azai. Before he parted with Richard he had 
to give him the kiss of peace ; he did so, but the rebellious 
son heard his father whisper, and was not ashamed to 
repeat it as a jest to Philip's ribald courtiers, " IMay God 
not let me die until I have taken me due vengeance on 
thee." 

But not even his submission and humiliation procured 
Henry rest. Among the minor vexations of the last months 
had been the pertinacious refusal of the monks of Canter- 
bury to obey their archbishop in certain matters in which 
they beUeved their privileges to be infringed. Henry had, 
as usual with him in questions of ecclesiastical law, taken a 
pei'sonal interest in the matter, and had not scrupled to 
back the archbishop with arms at Canterbury and support 
of a still more effective kind at Rome. A deputation from 
the convent, sent out in the vain idea that Henry's present 
misfortunes would soften his heart towards them, had been 
looking for him for some days. They found him at Azai, 
2 Richard. ^ Philip of France and Henry. 



DEATH OF HENRY THE SECOND. 91 

most probably on his return from the field of Colombieres. 
''The convent of Canterbury salute you as their lord," was 
the greeting of the monks. " Their lord I have been, and 
am still, and will be yet," was the King's answer ; " sma.ll 
thanks to you, ye traitors," he added below his breath. 
One of his clerks prevented him from adding more invec- 
tive. He bethought himself probably that even now the 
justiciar was asking the convent for money towards the 
expenses of the war ; he would temporize as he had always 
seemed to do with them. " Go away, and I will speak with 
my faithful," he said when he had heard their plea. He 
called William of S. Mere I'Eglise, one of the chiefs of the 
chancery, and ordered him to write in his name. The 
letter is extant, and is dated at Azai. It is probably the 
last document he ever issued. It begins, " Henry, by the 
grace of God King of England, Duke of Normandy and 
Aquitaine, and Count of Anjou, to the convent of Christ 
Church, Canterbury, greeting, and by God's mercy on his 
return to England, peace." The substance of the letter is, 
that the monks should take advantage of the delay in his 
return to reconsider their position, and the things that make 
for peace, that they might find an easier way out of their 
difficulties when he should come. 

The monks, delighted with their success, retired, and 
the King lay down to rest. It was then, probably, that 
the fatal schedule was brought him, which he had so 
unwisely demanded at Colombieres. It was drawn up in 
the form of a release from allegiance ; all who had adhered 
to Richard were allowed to attach themselves henceforth 
to him, in renunciation of the father's right over them. He 
ordered the names to be read. The first on the list was 
that of John.^ The sound of the beloved name startled 

^ JoJm was Henrfs youngest son; and it was Ms excessive 
love of him which had roused the jealousy of his other sons, and 



92 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

him at once. He leaped up from his bed as one beside 
himself, and looking round him with a quick troubled 
glance exclaimed, " Is it true that John, my very heart, 
the best beloved of all my sons, for whose advancement 
I have brought upon me all this misery, has forsaken 
me?" The reader had no other answer to make than 
to repeat the name. Henry saw that it was on the list, 
and threw himself back on the couch. He turned his face 
to the wall, and groaned deeply. " Now," he said, " let all 
things go what way they may ; I care no more for myself 
nor for the world." His heart was broken, and his death- 
blow struck. 

He could not, however, remain at Azai. His people 
carried him in a litter to Chinon,^ where Geoffrey was 
waiting for him. It was the fifth day of the fever, and in 
all probability he was delirious with the excitement of the 
morning. It was remembered and reported in England that 
after he was brought to Chinon he cursed the day on which 
he was born, and implored God's malison ^ on his sons : the 
bishops and priests about him implored him to revoke the 
curse, but he refused. But Giraldus,'' bitter enemy as he 
was, somewhat softened by his misfortune, tells a different 
tale. He draws the picture of the dying King leaning on 
Geoffrey's shoulder whilst one of his knights held his feet 
in his lap. Geoffrey was fanning the flies from the King's 
face, as he seemed to be sleeping. As they watched, the 
King revived and opened his eyes. He looked at Geoffrey 
and blessed him. "My son," he said, "my dearest, for 
that thou hast ever striven to show towards me such faith- 
fulness and gratitude as son could show to father, if by 
God's mercy I shall recover of this sickness, I will of a 

broti^S^Jit about Richard's revolt. In spite of this John had 
secretly joined in the conspiracy. ^ A town and castle on 

the Viejine, south of the Loire. ^ Curse. ^ A historian 

of the time, who hated Henry and his sons. 



i 



DEATH OF PIENRY THE SECOND. 93 

surely do to thee the duty of the best of fathers, and I will 
set thee among the greatest and mightiest men of my 
dominion. But if I am to die without requiting thee, may 
God, who is the author and rewarder of all good, reward 
thee, because in every fortune alike thou hast shown thyself 
to me so true a son." Geoffrey, of whose sincere sorrow 
there can be no doubt, was overwhelmed with tears ; he 
could but reply that all he prayed for was his father's health 
and prosperity. Another day passed, and the King's strength 
visibly waned. He kept crying at intervals, '' Shame, shame 
on a conquered king." At last, Avhen Geoffrey was again 
by his side, the poor King kept telling him how he had 
destined him for the see of York, or, if not York, Win- 
chester ; but now he knew that he was dying.^ He drew 
off his best gold ring with the device of the panther, and 
bade him send it to his son-in-law, the King of Castile ; 
and another very precious ring, with a sapphire of great 
price and virtue, he ordered to be delivered out of his 
treasure. Then he desired that his bed should be carried 
into the chapel, and placed before the altar. He had 
strength still to say some words of confession, and received 
" the Communion of the Body and Blood of the Lord 
with devotion." And so he died, on the seventh day of the 
fever, on the sixth of July, the octave of the Apostles Peter 
and Paul. 

^ Geoffrey afterwards became ArchbisJwp of York. 



94 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 



XIX. 

KING RICHARD IN THE HOLY LAND. 

MISS YONGE. 

[Richard, who succeeded his father as King of England, 
only visited his realm to gather money for a Crusade, or 
war for the rescue of Jerusalem from the Mahommedans, 
which he had vowed to undertake with King Philip of 
France. Philip and he, however, quarrelled at their first 
exploit, the siege of Acre ; and on the capture of the city 
the French King returned home. Richard then led his 
troops to the siege of Jerusalem.] 

At the end of August, 1191, Richard led his crusading 
troops from Acre into the midst of the wilderness of Mount 
Carmel, where their sufferings were terrible ; the rocky, 
sandy, and uneven ground was covered with bushes full of 
long sharp prickles, and swarms of noxious insects buzzed 
in the air, fevering the Europeans with their stings ; and in 
addition to these natural obstacles, multitudes of Arab horse- 
men harassed them on every side, slaughtering every straggler 
who dropped behind from fatigue, and attacking them so 
unceasingly that it was remarked that throughout their day's 
track there was not one space of four feet without an arrow 
sticking in the ground. Richard fought indefatigably, always 
in the van and ready to reward the gallant exploits of his 
knights. A young knight who bore a white shield in hopes 
of gaining some honourable bearing so distinguished him- 
self that Richard thus greeted him at the close of the day : 
*' Maiden knight, you have borne yourself as a lion, and. 



KING RICHARD IN THE HOLY LAND. 95 

done the deed of six croises;^^'^ and granted him a Hon 
between six crosses on a red field with the motto, " TincUis 
crurore Saraceno,''* tinted with Saracen blood, whence his 
family are said to have assumed the name of Tynte. 

At Arsaaf, on the 7 th of September, a great battle was 
fought. Saladin ^ and his brother had almost defeated the 
two Religious Orders,^ and the gallant French knight, 
Jacques d'Avesne, after losing his leg by a stroke from a 
scimitar, fought bravely on, calling on the English King 
until he fell overpowered by numbers. Coeur de Lion ^ and 
Guillaume des Barres retrieved the day, hewed down the 
enemy on all sides, and remained masters of the field. It 
is even said that Richard and Saladin met hand to hand, 
but this is uncertain. This victory opened the way to Joppa, 
where the Crusaders spent the next month in the repair of 
the fortifications, while the Saracen forces lay at Ascalon. 
While here Richard often amused himself with hawking, 
and one day was asleep under a tree when he was aroused 
by the approach of a party of Saracens, and springing on his 
horse Frannelle, which had been taken at Cyprus, he rashly 
pursued them and fell into ah ambush. Four knights were 
slain, and he would have been seized had not a Gascon 
knight, named Guillaume des Parcelets, called out that he 
himself was the Malek Rik,^ and allowed himself to be taken. 
Richard offered ten noble Saracens in exchange for this 
generous knight, whom Saladin restored, together with a 
valuable horse that had been captured at the same time. A 
present of another Arab steed accompanied them ; but 
Richard's half-brother, William Longsword, insisted on trying 

^ Crusaders : so called from their bearing the mark of a cross 
on their shoulders. ^ The Stcltan of Egypt ^ who was in pos- 
session of the Holy Land. ^ The Templars and Hospitallers ; 
orders formed for defence of the Holy Land. ^ Richard, 

so called from his lion-like courage. ^ Great King, or 

Richard. 

5* 



96 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

the animal before the King should mount it. No sooner 
was he on its back than it dashed at once across the country, 
and before he could stop it he found himself in the midst 
of the enemy's camp. The two Saracen princes were ex- 
tremely shocked and distressed lest this should be supposed 
a trick, and instantly escorted Longsword back with a gift 
of three chargers which proved to be more manageable. 

From Joppa the Crusaders marched to Ramla, and thence 
on New Year's Day, 1192, set out for Jerusalem through a 
country full of greater obstacles than they had yet encoun- 
tered. They were too full of spirit to be discouraged until 
they came to Bethany, where the two Grand Masters ^ re- 
presented to Richard the imprudence of laying siege to such 
fortifications as those of Jerusalem at such a season of the 
year, while Ascalon was ready in his rear for a post whence 
the enemy would attack him. 

He yielded and retreated to Ascalon, which Saladin had 
ruined and abandoned, and began eagerly to repair the for- 
tifications so as to be able to leave a garrison there. The 
soldiers grumbled, saying they had not come to Palestine 
to build Ascalon, but to conquer Jerusalem; whereupon 
Richard set the example of himself carrying stones, and 
called on Leopold^ to do the same. The sulky reply, 
'*He was not the son of a mason," so irritated Richard 
that he struck him a blow ; Leopold straightway quitted the 
army and returned to Austria. 

It was not without great grief and many struggles that 
Coeur de Lion finally gave up his hopes of taking Jerusalem. 
He again advanced as far as Bethany ; but a quarrel with 
Hugh of Burgundy and the defection of the Austrians made 
it impossible for him to proceed, arid he turned back to 
Ramla. While riding out with a party of knights, one of 

^ TA& masters of the two orders of religious k7iigJithood^ the 
Templars and Hospitallers. ^ The Duke of Austria. 



KING RICHARD IN THE HOLY LAND. 97 

them called out, "This way, my lord, and you will see 
Jerusalem!" "Alas!" said Richard, hiding his face with 
his mantle, "those who are not worthy to win the Holy City 
are not worthy to behold it ! " He returned to Acre, but 
there hearing that Saladin was besieging Joppa, he embarked 
his troops and sailed to its aid. The Crescent^ shone on 
its walls as he entered the harbour ; but while he looked on 
in dismay he was hailed by a priest who had leaped into 
the sea and swum out to inform him that there was yet time 
to rescue the garrison, though the town was in the hands of 
the enemy. He hurried his vessel forward, leapt into the 
water breast-high, dashed upwards on the shore, ordered 
his immediate followers to raise a bulwark of casks and 
beams to protect the landing of the rest, and rushing up a 
flight of steps, entered the city alone. " St. George ! St. 
George ! " That cry dismayed the Infidels, and those in the 
town to the number of three thousand fled in the utmost 
confusion, and were pursued for two miles by three knights 
who had been fortunate enough to find him. 

Richard pitched his tent outside the walls, and remained 
there with so few troops that all were contained in ten tents. 
Very early one morning, before the King was out of bed, a 
man rushed into his tent, crying out, '*0 King! we are all 
dead men ! " Springing up, Richard fiercely silenced him, 
''Peace ! or thou diest by my hand !" Then while hastily 
donning his suit of mail, he heard that the glitter of arms had 
been seen in the distance, and in another moment the enemy 
were upon them, seven thousand in number. Richard had 
neither helmet nor shield, and only seventeen of his knights 
had horses ; but undaunted he drew up his little force in a 
compact body, the knights kneeling on one knee covered 
by their shields, their lances pointing outwards, and between 
each pair an archer with an assistant to load his cross-bow ; 
8 T/ie staiidafd of the Mussjilman Saracens. 

H 



98 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

and he stood in the midst encouraging them with his voice, 
and threatening to cut off the head of the first who turned 
to fly. In vain did the Saracens charge that mass of brave 
men, not one-seventh of their number; the shields and 
lances were impenetrable ; and without one forward step or 
one bolt from the cross-bows their passive steadiness turned 
back wave after wave of the enemy. 

At last the King gave the word for the cross-bowmen to 
advance, while he with the seventeen mounted knights 
charged lance in rest. His curtal axe bore down all before 
it, and he dashed like lightning from one part of the plain 
to another, with not a moment to smile at the opportune 
gift from the polite Malek-el-Afdal, who, in the hottest of 
the fight, sent him two fine horses, desiring him to use them 
in escaping from this dreadful peril. Little did the Saracen 
princes imagine that they would find him victorious, and 
that they would mount two more pursuers ! Next came a 
terrified fugitive with news that three thousand Saracens had 
entered Joppa ! Richard summoned a few knights, and 
without a word to the rest galloped back into the city. The 
panic inspired by his presence instantly cleared the streets, 
and riding back, he again led his troops to the charge ; but 
such were the swarms of Saracens that it was not till evening 
that the Christians could give themselves a moment's rest, 
or look round and feel that they had gained one of the 
most wonderful of victories. Since day-break Richard had 
not laid aside his sword or axe, and his hand was all over 
blistered. No wonder that the terror of his name endured 
for centuries in Palestine, and that the Arab chided his 
starting horse with, "Dost think that yonder is the Malek 
Rik?" while the mother stilled her crying child by threats 
that the Malek Rik should take it. 

These violent exertions seriously injured Richard's health, 
and a low fever placed him in great danger, as well as 



KING RICHARD IN THE HOLY LAND. 



99 



several of his best knights. No command or persuasion 
could induce the rest to commence any enterprise without 
him, and the tidings from Europe induced him to conclude 
a peace and return home. Maiek-el-Afdal came to visit 
him, and a truce was signed for three years, three months, 
three weeks, three days, three hours, and three minutes, 
thus so quaintly arranged in accordance with some astro- 
logical views of the Saracens. Ascalon was to be demolished 
on condition that free access to Jerusalem was to be al- 
lowed to the pilgrims ; but Saladin would not restore the 
piece of the True Cross, as he was resolved not to con- 
duce to what he considered idolatry. Richard sent notice 
that he was coming back with double his present force to 
effect the conquest, and the Sultan answered that if the 
Holy City was to pass into Frank hands, none could be 
nobler than those of the Malek Rik. Fever and debility 
detained Richard a month longer at Joppa, during which 
time he sent the Bishop of Salisbury to carry his offerings 
to Jerusalem. The prelate was invited to the presence of 
Saladin, who spoke in high terms of Richard's courage, but 
censured his rash exposure of his own life. On October 9, 
1 1 93, Coeur de Lion took leave of Palestine, watching with 
tears its receding shores, as he exclaimed, ''O Holy Land, 
I commend thee and thy people unto God. May He grant 
me yet to return to aid thee." 



JOHN AND THE CHARTER. 

GREEN. 

[On his return from the Crusade Richard was taken prisoner 
by the Duke of Austria. He bought his release only to 
find King Philip attacking his French dominions ; and to 

H 2 



100 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

plunge into wearisome and indecisive wars, in the midst 
of which he was slain at the Castle of Chaluz. His 
brother John, who followed him on the throne, was a 
vile and weak ruler, under whom the great sovereignty 
built up by Henry the Second broke utterly down. 
Normandy, Maine, and Anjou were reft from him by 
Philip of France, and only Aquitaine remained to him 
on that side the sea. In England his lust and oppression 
drove people and nobles to join in resistance to him ; and 
their resistance found a great leader in the Archbishop of 
Canterbury, Stephen Langton,] 

From the moment of his landing in England Stephen 
Langton had taken up the constitutional position of the 
Primate in upholding the old customs and rights of the 
realm against the personal despotism of the kings. As 
Anselm had withstood William the Red, as Theobald had 
withstood Stephen, so Langton prepared to withstand and 
rescue his country from the tyranny of John. He had al- 
ready forced him to swear to observe the laws of Edward 
the Confessor, in other words the traditional liberties of the 
realm. When the baronage refused to sail for Poitou ^ he 
compelled the King to deal with them not by arms but by 
process of law. But the work which he now undertook 
was far greater and weightier than this. The pledges of 
Henry the First had long been forgotten when the Justi- 
ciar brought them to light, but Langton saw the vast im- 
portance of such a precedent. At the close of the month 
he produced Henry's charter in a fresh gathering of barons 
at St. PauFs, and it was at once welcomed as a base for the 
needed reforms. From London Langton hastened to the 
King, whom he reached at Northampton on his way to 
attack the nobles of the north, and wrested from him a 

1 John had summoned the barons to follow htm oversea to 
reconquer his French domt7iwns, but they refused, saying they 
owed service to him i}i England, but not in foreign lands. 



JOHN AND THE CHARTER. loi 

promise to bring his strife with them to legal judgement 
before assailing them in arms. 

With his aliies gathering abroad John had doubtless 
no wish to be entangled in a long quarrel at home, and 
the Archbishop's mediation allowed him to withdraw 
with seeming dignity. After a demonstration therefore at 
Durham John marched hastily south again, and reached 
London in October. His Justiciar at once laid before him 
the claims of the Council of St. Alban's and St. Paul's ; 
but the death of Geoffry^ at this juncture freed him from 
the pressure which his minister was putting upon him. 
" Now, by God's feet," cried John, " I am for the first time 
King and Lord of England," and he entrusted the vacant 
justiciarship to a Poitevin, Peter des Roches, the Bishop 
of Winchester, whose temper was in harmony with his own. 
But the death of Geoffry only called the Archbishop to the 
front, and Langton at once demanded the King's assent to 
the Charter of Henry the First. 

In seizing on this Charter as a basis for national action 
Langton showed a political ability of the highest order. 
The enthusiasm with which its recital was welcomed 
showed the sagacity with which the Archbishop had 
chosen his ground. From that moment the baronage 
was no longer drawn together in secret conspiracies by a 
sense of common wrong or a vague longing for common 
deliverance : they were openly united in a definite claim 
of national freedom and national law. Secretly, and on 
the pretext of pilgrimage, the nobles met at St. Edmunds- 
bury, resolute to bear no longer with John's delays. If 
he refused to restore their liberties they swore to make war 
on him till he confirmed them by Charter under the 
King's seal, and they parted to raise forces with the 
purpose of presenting their demands at Christmas. John, 
2 The Justiciar, Geoffry Fitz-Peter. 



I02 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

knowing nothing of the coming storm, pursued his policy 
of 'winning over the Church by granting it freedom of 
election,^ while he embittered still more the strife with 
his nobles by demanding scutage ^ from the northern nobles 
who had refused to follow him to Poitou. But the barons 
were now ready to act, and early in January, in the memo- 
rable year 12 15, they appeared in arms to lay, as they had 
planned, their demands before the King. 

John was taken by surprise. He asked for a truce till 
Easter-tide, and spent the interval in fevered efforts to 
avoid the blow. Again he offered freedom to the Church, 
and took vows as a Crusader against whom war was a sacri- 
lege, v/hile he called for a general oath of allegiance and 
fealty from the whole body of his subjects. But month 
after month only showed the King the uselessness of fur- 
ther resistance. Though Pandulf ^ was with him, his vassal- 
age had as yet brought little fruit in the way of aid from- 
Rome; the commissioners whom he sent to plead his 
cause at the shire-courts brought back news that no man 
would help him against the charter that the barons claimed : 
and his efforts to detach the clergy from the league of his 
opponents utterly failed. The nation was against the 
King. He was far indeed from being utterly deserted. 
His ministers still clung to him, men such as Geoffrey de 
Lucy, Geoffrey de Furnival, Thomas Basset, and William 
Briwere, statesmen trained in the administrative school of 
his father, and who, dissent as they might from John's 



3 The Church demanded the free election of bishops by their 
chapters and abbots by their mo7iks. John, and the kings before 
hijn had forced them to elect in. the king's presence, that is.practi- 
cally on his 7iomination. ^ Scntage, or shield-money, ivas the 
com7nutatio7t paid in lien of military service by all who owed 
service to the king. ^ The Pope's legate. To escape f-om a 

sentence of exco7nmu7iicatio7i Joh7i had stooped to ow7i hi77iself 
vassal of the see cf Ro77ie. 



J 



JOHN AND THE CHARTER. 103 

mere oppression, still looked on the power of the Crown 
as the one barrier against feudal anarchy : and beside 
them stood some of the great nobles of royal blood, his 
father's bastard Earl William of Salisbury, his cousin Earl 
William of Warenne, and Henry Earl of Cornwall, a grand- 
son of Henry the First. With him too remained Ranulf, 
Earl of Chester, and the wisest and noblest of the barons, 
William Marshal, the elder Earl of Pembroke. William 
Marshal had shared in the rising of the younger Henry 
against Henry the Second, and stood by him as he died ; 
he had shared in the overthrow of William Longchamp 
and in the outlawry of John.<5 He was now an old man, 
firm, as we shall see in his aftercourse, to recall the govern- 
ment to the path of freedom and law, but shrinking from a 
strife which might bring back the anarchy of Stephen's day, 
and looking for reforms rather in the bringing constitutional 
pressure to bear upon the King than in forcing them from 
liim by arms. 

But cling as such men might to John, tluey clung to him 
rather as mediators than adherents. Tlieir sympathies went 
with the demands of the barons when the delay which had 
been granted was over and the nobles again gathered in 
arms at Brackley in Northamptonshire to lay their claims 
before the King. Nothing marks more strongly the abso- 
lutely despotic idea of his sovereignty which John had 
formed than the passionate surprise which breaks out in 
his reply. " Why do they not ask for my kingdom ? " he 
cried. ''I will never grant such liberties as will make me 
a slave ! " The imperialist theories of the lawyers of his 
father's court had done their work. Held at bay by the 

^ William Longchamp, who had been left as regent of England 
by Richard, was dj'iven from the realm by the nobles; andfohn, 
who strove to take advantage of his brother's absence for his own 
ambition, was forced to follow hint oversea. 



104 PROSE READINGS FROM'ENGLISH HISTORY. 

practical sense of Henry, they had told on the more head- 
strong nature of his sons. Richard and John both held 
with Glanvill that the will of the prince was the law of the 
land ; and to fetter that will by the customs and franchises 
which were embodied in the barons' claims seemed to John 
a monstrous usurpation of his rights. 

But no imperialist theories had touched the minds of his 
people. The country rose as one man at his refusal. At the 
close of ]\Iay London threw open her gates to the forces 
of the barons, now arrayed under Robert Fitz-Walter as 
" Marshal of the Army of God and Holy Church," Exeter 
and Lincoln followed the example of the capital ; promises 
of aid came from Scotland and Wales ; the northern barons 
marched hastily under Eustace de Vesci to join their com- 
rades in London. Even the nobles who had as yet clung 
to the King, but whose hopes of conciliation were blasted 
by his obstinacy, yielded at last to the summons of the 
" Army of God." Pandulf indeed and Archbishop Lang- 
ton still remained with John, but they counselled as Earl 
Ranulf and William Marshal counselled his acceptance of 
the Charter. None in fact counselled its rejection save his 
new Justiciar, the Poitevin Peter des Roches, and other 
foreigners who knew the barons purposed driving them 
from the land. But even the number of these was small ; 
there was a moment when John found himself with but 
seven knights at his back and before him a nation in arms. 
Quick as he was, he had been taken utterly by surprize. 
It was in vain that in the short respite he had gained from 
Christmas to Easter he had summoned mercenaries to his 
aid and appealed to his new suzerain,'^ the Pope. Sum- 
mons and appeal were alike too late. Nursing wrath in 
his heart, John bowed to necessity and called the barons 
to a conference on an island in the Thames between 
7 Overlord. 



THE FRIARS AND THE TOWNS. 105 

Windsor and Staines, near a marshy meadow by the river 
side, the meadow of Runnymede. The King encamped on 
one bank of the river, the barons covered the flat of Runny- 
mede on the other. Their delegates met on the 15th of 
July in the island between them, but the negotiations were 
a mere cloak to cover John's purpose of unconditional sub- 
mission. The Great Charter was discussed and agreed to 
in a single day. 



XXI. 

THE FRIARS AND THE TOWNS. 
BREWER. 

[The rest of the reign of John and almost the whole reign 
of his son, Henry the Third, was a struggle between king 
and people for the confirmation and developement of the 
rights embodied in the Great Charter. Politically it was 
a time of much misgovernment and trouble, a trouble 
which ended at last in the great outbreak called the 
Barons' War. But socially and religiously it was a time of 
vast progress. England grew richer and more vigorous, 
the universities became great centres of learning and 
education; art flourished; and religion was revived by 
the energy of the Friars. The Friars were the mission- 
aries of the towns, which were now rising into import- 
ance.] 

It may be difficult, perhaps impossible, at this distance, 
to realize the social condition of the towns of Europe in the 
thirteenth century, and consequently the importance of this 
new movement. The evidence for the history of the land 
is complete ; for the towns it is meagre and unsatisfactory. 
Their municipal institutions are in full vigour long before 
history affords the least insight into their social condition 



io6 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY, 

or material prosperity. A political order is established among 
them, has been working harmoniously for centuries, in a 
state of society utterly inadequate, in all appearance, to the 
creation of such wise laws, of authority so judiciously 
modified. In these communities we trace not the germs, 
but the fully developed forms of self-government, at a time 
when, in material comforts, the towns of Western Europe 
differed little from the rudest mud hovels or shanties of the 
remotest country village in Ireland or the West of Scotland. 
If it be true that the English artizan stepped out of his 
mud-hovel into a more muddy street, when the Moor at 
one corner of Europe ^ and the Florentine at the other were 
enjoying the luxury of palaces and the civic improvements 
of a polished capital; equally true it is that the English 
mechanic was living in the enjoyment of municipal institu- 
tions and privileges which, with all the advantages of 
imitation and the lapse of five centuries, his predecessors 
in the arts have yet failed to realize. 

Notwithstanding, then, the many material discomforts, 
and the absence of ail due means of cleanliness and health, 
requisite for preserving large masses of population, crowded 
into narrow streets, from degenerating into brutality, the 
town populations of England and of Europe were pre- 
served in some measure from that moral degradation which 
might have been anticipated from their social condition. 
Perhaps the exertion necessary for defending their privileges 
may have secured this happy result ; still a vast amount of 
squalor and wretchedness, of ignorance and poverty, exist- 
ed in the towns without any adequate means for counter- 
action. Improvement could not keep pace with the rapid 
increase of population. Fever and plague, strange and 
destructive epidemics, spread with unexampled rapidity. 
Whole quarters of the city suff"ered from the scourge, without 
^ The Moo?-s held Sotdhern Spain. 



THE FRIARS AND THE TOWNS. 107 

adequate means of prevention ; without remedy or repara- 
tion for the evil when it had occurred. Markets were 
scantily and irregularly supplied ; roads intercepted by a 
feudal aristocracy or a discontented sovereign ; an entire 
population, as in the industrious towns of the Low Countries, 
exposed to periodical starvation. The narrowness and 
intricacy of the streets, serving as a protection against the 
mounted knight and his men-at-arms, served also a worse 
enemy, the plague or the sweating sickness, and decimated 
the population, to whom sanitary precautions were unknown. 
The lazy ditches and' stagnant ponds, into which ran the 
refuse and garbage of the shambles, — a poor protection 
to the various quarters of the town, — sent up their fetid 
odours, rank with fever and ague, into the stifled chamber 
and open booth of the artizan. 

Upon the higher ground, as may be seen in many towns 
in England at the present day, stood the Guildhall and the 
Ward ofthe Aldermen, distinguished by houses partially built 
of stone pilfered from the old Roman monuments, forming a 
striking contrast to the outer circle and the suburbs, where, 
down to the water's edge and straggling beyond it, in an 
uncertain and precarious tenure, rose wooden sheds, rudely 
plastered or white-washed, on the edge of the town-ditch, 
sheltering the last new settlers that had flocked into the 
town for occupation or protection ; a mixed race, of whom 
little inquiry was made; tolerated, not acknowledged: of 
all blood, all climates, and all religions ; permitted to live 
or die, as it pleased God or themselves, provided only that 
they yielded due obedience to the proper civic authorities. 
Here the leprosy and the plague were certain to enter first ; 
here infection did its worst. In the higher city there might 
be parish churches and schools ; a skilful leech ^ to look 
after the welfare, bodily and spiritual, of the inhabitants. In 
2 Physician. 



io8 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

defect of these, the different guilds ^ established in the City 
proper provided in some measure for the instruction and com- 
fort of the master and his apprentices. The city ponds and 
rivulets yielded fresh water to those who were willing to 
fetch it ; the chaplain of the guild, its church or chapel, 
provided for the common worship and spiritual welfare of 
its members ; the common purse of the guild furnished 
relief against sudden misfortune, and paid for the funeral 
obsequies and masses of the defunct brother. But for the 
unguilded population, who resided in the suburbs, and in- 
creased daily and rapidly in the unsettled condition of the 
country ; or as the oppression or harshness or stern justice 
of the feudal baron made the town a more safe and desirable 
abiding place than the country, for these there were no such 
advantages. Imagination can only conceive their condition ; 
history is silent. 

Now, it was to this class of the population, in the first 
instance, that the attention of the Franciscan ^ was directed ; 
in these wretched localities his convent and Order were 
seated. I have not been able to examine the primitive 
position of all their religious houses in England ; but a 
glance at the more important will show the general correct- 
ness of this statement. In London, York, AVarwick, Oxford, 
Bristol, Lynn, and elsewhere, their convents stood in the 
suburbs and abutted on the city w^alls. They made choice 
of the low, swampy, and undrained spots in the large towns, 
among the poorest and most neglected quarters. Unlike 
the magnificent monasteries and abbeys, which excite ad- 
miration to this day, their buildings, to the very last, retained 
their primitive squat, low, and meagre proportions. Their 
first house, at their settlement in London, stood in the 
neighbourhood of Cornhill, where they built cells, stuffing 

3 Companies for trade. "* An order of friars founded by 

Francis of Assist. 



THE FRIARS AND THE TOWNS. 109 

the party-walls with dried grass. Near the shambles in 
Newgate, and close upon the city gate of that name, on 
a spot appropriately called Stinking Lane, rose the chief 
house of the Order in England. In Oxford the parish of 
St. Ebbe's, in Cambridge the decayed town gaol, in Norwich 
the water side, running close to the walls of the town, are 
the special and chosen spots of the Franciscan missionary. 

In all instances the poverty of their buildings corre- 
sponded with those of the surrounding district : their living 
and lodging are no better than the poorest among whom 
they settle. At Cambridge their chapel was erected by a 
single carpenter in one day. At Shrewsbury, where owing 
to the liberality of the townsmen, the dormitory ^ walls had 
been built of stone, the minister of the Order had them 
removed and replaced with mud. Decorations and orna- 
ments of all kinds were zealously excluded. At Gloucester, 
a friar was deprived of his hood for painting his pulpit, and 
the warden of the same place suffered similar punishment 
for tolerating pictures. Their meals corresponded with the 
poverty of their buildings. Mendicancy ^ might encourage 
idleness, but it also secured effectually the mean and meagre 
diet of the friars. It kept them on a par with the masses 
among whom their founder intended them to labour. They 
could not sell their offerings; they were not permitted to 
receive more than their actual necessities required ; meal, 
salt, figs, and apples; wood for » firing; stale beer or milk. 
Whatever the weather, however rough the way, they threaded 
the muddy streets and unpaved roads barefooted and bare- 
headed, leaving the prints of their bleeding feet upon the 
ground, in gowns of the coarsest cloth, which an economical 
vestryman of this nineteenth century would be asfiamed to 
ofl"er to the most refractory pauper in a parish workhouse. 

^ Place for sleeping. ^ The Friars subsisted by begging 

for alms. 



no PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

XXII. 

DEATH OF SIMON OF MONTFORT. 
PROTHERO. 

[While this great social improvement was going on the mis- 
government of Henry the Third was striving to undo all 
that the Great Charter had done. At last the long 
struggle between the King and nobles drove the nation 
to arms : and Earl Simon of Leicester, Simon de Mont- 
fort, put himself at the head of the patriotic barons who 
were resolved to force Henry to rule according to law. 
For a time they were successful ; the King was defeated 
at Lewes ; and the government passed into the hands 
of Earl Simon and his supporters. But strife broke out 
among the patriots themselves ; the bulk of the nobles 
forsook the Earl ; and the King's son, Edward, afterwards 
King Edward the First, gathered an army and marched 
against him. Earl Simon was expecting the coming of re- 
inforcements under his son to strengthen the weak force 
about him, when Edward (who had already surprized the 
son's force and cut it to pieces) fell upon De Montfort's 
army at Evesham.] 

When the Earl ^ heard that the troops ^ were seen ap- 
proaching, he cried out with joy, " It is my son. But never- 
theless," he added, "go up and look and bring me word 
again." His barber, Nicholas, who was gifted with a long sight 
and had some knowledge of heraldry, mounted the belltower 
of the abbey ^ and appears to have been followed by his 
master. At first Nicholas distinguished the ensigns of young 

^ Earl Simon of Mo?itforf, who was encamped at Evesham. 
Of Edward. '^ Of Eveshajn. 



DEATH OF SIMON DE MONTFORT. ni 

Simon and his partisans floating in the van of the advancing 
force.'* Another minute, and he saw they were in hostile 
hands, a bitter proof of the fate of his friends, and a warning 
of his own. From the tower-roof one can still look out with 
Simon's eyes upon the beautiful landscape below. Straight 
in front of him, about a mile distant, he looked upon the 
slopes of Green Hill, glistening with the weapons of those 
who were thirsting for his blood. A little to the right, over 
the shoulder of the hill, his eye followed the course of 
the winding stream towards the place where his home 
lay. Between him and the hill stretched a small plain, 
over which he would have to pass to his death, a plain 
probably then as now bright with gardens, and golden 
with the ripening fruit of autumn. Beneath him lay the 
little town,^ and as he glanced at the bridge, while one 
thought of escape crossed his mind, he may have seen the 
horsemen of Mortimer ^ hastening down to block his path. 
Behind him lay the river, before him the foe. It needed 
not many moments to show him that all was over. And 
bitterer than the thought of his own fate, with years of life 
and power yet in him, more numbing than the vague sense of 
what had befallen his son, must have been the conviction 
that for a time at least the cause which he had at heart, 
and for the sake of which he had looked death in the face, 
must perish with him. For a time at least : let us hope 
that in his moment of agony he was consoled by some 
vision of what was to come, by the faith that in after years 
one yet greater and far more fortunate than he would arise 
and protect the liberties of the nation he had adopted for 
his own. But it was no time for dreams ; he would sell his 

"* Edward had surprized the yoimg De Moiifforfs army, and 
take7i its standards^ which he displayed i7i front of his own 
troops to aid him in taking the Earl py surprize. ^ Of 

Eveshajn. ^ A baron of the Welsh border who was helping 

Edward 

6 



112 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

life as dearly as he could. "May the Lord have mercy 
upon our souls," he said, "for our bodies are undone." 

Outnumbered as they were by three to one, victory was out 
of the question. The Earl's friends urged him to fly, but the 
thought of flight for himself was not in his mind. A natural 
flash of anger burst forth in the remark that it was the 
folly of his own sons which had brought him to this pass. 
Nevertheless he endeavoured to persuade his eldest son 
Henry", his old comrade Hugh Despenser, and others to fly 
while there was yet time, and maintain the good cause 
when fortune should smile again. But one and all refused 
to desert him, preferring not to live if their leader died. 
" Come then," he said, " and let us die like men ; for we 
have fasted here and we shall breakfast in heaven." His 
troops were hastily shriven -^ by the aged Bishop of Wor- 
cester, who had performed the same office a year before 
upon a happier field.^ Then he led them out against the 
enemy, with the white cross again upon their shoulders, 
in as close order as he could. In the midst of them was the 
King,^ for Simon seems to the last to have cherished a faint 
hope of cutting his way through his adversaries ; and as at 
Lewes, the possession of the royal person was everything to 
him. As they neared the hill. Prince Edward's troops, who 
had been in no hurry to leave their point of vantage, began 
to descend upon them. Simon's heart was struck with 
admiration of the fair array before him, so different from 
that which he had met a year before ; his soldierly pride 
told him to whom their skill was due. " By the arm of St. 
James," he cried, ''they come on well; they learnt that 
not of themselves, but of me." 

On the south-western slope of Green Hill there is a 

7 Absolved after confession of their sins. ^ At Lewes, 

where Earl Simo7i won a great victory. ^ Henry the Third, 
whom the Earl had kept a virtual prisoner. 



DEATH OF SIMON DE MONTFORT. 113 

small valley or combe; in this hollow the chief struggle 
raged. On the further side, in the grounds of a private 
house, stands the obelisk, which marks the spot where, ac- 
cording to tradition, Simon de Montfort fell. Towards the 
higher part of the combe is a spring, still called De Mont- 
fort's Well, which, on the day of the battle, is said to have 
run with blood. Prince Edward began the fray, and while 
the Earl was engaged with him, Gloucester came up with a 
second body on his left, so that he was soon surrounded. 
The Welsh infantry,^^ poor, half-armed troops, fled at once, 
and were cut down in the neighbouring gardens by Mor^ 
timer's forces, which must now have been advancing from 
the rear. 'Simon's horse was killed under him; his eldest 
son was among the first to fall. When this was told him, 
he cried, " Is it so ? then indeed is it time for me to die ; " 
and rushing upon the enemy with redoubled fury, and 
wielding his sword with both his hands, the old warrior laid 
about him with so t-errific force, that had there been but 
half a dozen more like himself, says one who saw the fight, 
he would have turned the tide of battle. As it was he 
nearly gained the crest of the hill. But it was not to be. 
For a while he stood "like a tower," but at length a foot 
soldier, lifting up his coat of mail, pierced him in the back, 
and, with the words " Dieu merci " ^^ on his lips, he fell. 
Then the battle became a butchery. No quarter was asked 
or given. The struggle lasted for about two hours in the 
early summer morning, and then all was over. 

10 77/.? bulk of the Earl's anny consisted of Welshmen^ whom 
he had brought with him across the Severn when marching to 
join his S071. " Thank God I 



IJ4 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

XXIII. 

AN EARLY ELECTION TO PARLIAMENT. 

PALGRAVE. 

[On the death of Earl Simon the cause of EngHsh freedom 
and Enghsh law seemed lost. But his conqueror was as 
averse from lawless rule as the Earl himself; and when 
Edward became king on his father's death he ruled justly 
and nobly. What he set himself to do from the first was 
the work of wise government and the making of wise 
laws. Till now English kings had made laws only with 
the consent of their bishops and higher barons, gathered 
in the Great Council of the realm. It was Edward who 
first made laws in what has ever since been called Parlia- 
ment. For this purpose he called on the shires and 
larger towns to choose men to " represent " them, or ap- 
pear in their stead in the Great Council ; the shires sending 
knights of the shire, the towns burgesses. These, added 
to the peers or high nobles and to the bishops, made up 
Parliament. It was at a later time that Parliament divided 
itself into two Houses, the House of Lords, in which 
sate the bishops and peers, and the House of Commons, 
in which sate the burgesses and knights of the shire. 
The business of Parliament was not only to make good 
laws for the realm, but to grant money to the King for the 
needs of the state in peace and war, and to authorize him 
to raise this money by taxes or subsidies from his subjects. 
So at first people saw little of the great good of such 
Parliaments, but dreaded their calling together, because 
they brought taxes with them. Nor did men seek as 
they do now to be chosen as members of Parliament, for 
the way thither was long and travel costly, and so they 
did tlieir best not to be chosen, and when chosen had to 
be bound over under pain of heavy fines to serve in Par- 
liament. This is what Sir Francis Palgrave has striven to 
bring out in his picture of an election under Edward the 
First. 1 



AN EARLY ELECTION TO PARLIAMENT. 115 

During the last half-hour the suitors "■ had been gather- 
ing round the shire-oak,^ awaiting the arrival of the high 
officer whose duty it was to preside.^ Notwithstanding the 
size of the meeting there was an evident system in the crowd. 
A considerable proportion of the throng consisted of little 
knots of husbandmen or churls, four or five of whom 
were generally standing together, each company seeming 
to compose a deputation. The churls might be easily dis- 
tinguished by their dress, a long frock of coarse yet snow- 
white linen, hanging down to. the same length before and 
behind, and ornamented round the neck with broidery 
rudely executed in blue thread. They wore in fact the 
attire of the carter and ploughman, a garb which was com- 
mon enough in country parts about five-and-twenty years 
ago,* but which will probably soon be recollected only as an 
ancient costume, cast away with all the other obsolete cha- 
racteristics of merry Old England. These groups of pea- 
santry were the representatives of their respective townships, 
the rural communes into which the whole realm was divided ;^ 
and each had a species of chieftain or headman in the per- 
son of an individual who, though it was evident that he be- 
longed to the same rank in society, gave directions to the rest. 
Interspersed among the churls, though not confounded with 
them, were also very many well-clad persons, possessing an 
appearance of rustic respectability, who were also subjected 
to some kind of organization, being collected into sets of 
twelve men each, who were busily employed in confabula- 
tion among themselves. These were " the sworn centenary 
deputies," or jurors, the sworn men who answered for 

1 T/ie holders of land frojn the Crow7i, who were bound to 
attend at the cottnty-coic7't or shii'e-ineeting. 2 Round which 

the shire-vieeting was held. ^ The sheriff. ^ Known 

as the " smock-frock.'''' ^ The towjiship tistcally answered to 

the modern parish. 



ii6 PROSE READINGS FROM ENCxLISH HISTORY. 

represented the several hundreds.^ A third class of mem- 
bers of the shire court could be equally distinguished, 
proudly known by their gilt spurs and blazoned tabards '^ as 
the provincial knighthood, and who, though thus honoured, 
appeared to mix freely and affably in converse with the rest 
of the commons ^ of the shire. 

A flourish of trumpets announced the approach of the 
high sheriff, Sir Giles de Argentein, surrounded by his 
escort of javelin men, tall yeomen, all arrayed in a uniform 
suit of livery, and accompanied amongst others by four 
knights, the coroners, ^ who took cognizance of all pleas 
that concerned the king's rights within the county, and who, 
though they yielded precedence to the sheriff, were evi- 
dently considered to be almost of equal importance with 
him. "My masters," said the sheriff to the assembled 
crowd, " even now hath the port-joye ^^ of the chancery de- 
livered to me certain most important writs of our sovereign 
lord the King, containing his grace's high commands." At 
this time the chancellor, who might be designated as prin- 
cipal secretary of state for all departments, was the great 
medium of communication between king and subject ; what- 
ever the sovereign had to ask or to tell was usually asked 
or told by, or under, the directions of this high functionary. 
Now although the gracious declarations which the chan- 
cellor was charged to deliver were much diversified in their 
form, yet somehow or other they all conveyed the same 
intent. Whether directing the preservation of the peace or 
preparing for the prosecution of a war, whether announcing 
a royal birth or a royal death, the knighthood of the king's 

^ A /nmdf'cd was a group of townships or parishes. 

"* The tabard was an ovet'coat emblazoned with the armorial 
bearings of the k7iight. ^ All classes beloiu that of the peers, 

or greater nobles. ' ^ The coroners of our day have sunk i7t 
dignity, ajid have now only the duty of hiquiry into violent 
deaths. i° The port-joye was the messenger of the chancellor. 



I 



AN EARLY ELECTION TO PARLIAMENT. 117 

son or the marriage of the king's daughter, the mandates 
of our ancient kings invariably conclude with a request or 
a demand for money's worth or money. 

The present instance offered no exception to the general " 
rule. King Edward/^ greeting his loving subjects, expatiated 
upon the miseries which the realm was likely to sustain by 
the invasion of the wicked, barbarous, and perfidious Scots. 
Church and state, he alleged, were in equal danger, and 
" inasmuch as that which concerneth all ought to be deter- 
mined by the advice of all concerned, we have determined," 
continued the writ, " to hold our Parliament at Westminster 
in eight days from the feast of St. Hilary." The effect of 
the announcement was magical. Parliament ! Even before 
the second syllable of the word had been uttered visions of 
aids ^^ and subsidies rose before the appalled multitude, grim 
shadows of assessors and collectors floated in the ambient 
air. Sir Gilbert Hastings instinctively plucked his purse out 
of his sleeve ; drawing the strings together, he twirled, 
twisted, and tied them in the course of half-a-minute of 
nervous agitation into a Gordian knot which apparently 
defied any attempt to undo it, except by the means prac- 
tised by the son of Ammon.^^ The abbot of Oseney^'^ forth- 
with guided his steed to the right-about and rode away from 
the meeting as fast as he could trot, turning the deafest of 
all deaf ears to the monitions which he received to stay. 
The sheriff and the other functionaries alone preserved a 
tranquil, but not a cheerful gravity, as Sir Giles commanded 
his clerk to read the whole of the writ, by which he was 
commanded " to cause two knights to be elected for the 
shire ; -and from every city within his bailiwick two citizens ; 

11 T/ie First. ^2 Grants of money made to the Crown by 

Parliament and raised by taxation. ^^ Alexander the Great, 

who claimed to be the son of the God Am7non, and cut the 
Gordia7i knot, %vhich none could tmtie, by a stroke of his swot ^ 

*'* A religious house outside Oxford. 



Ii8 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY 

and from every borough two burgesses : all of them of the 
more discreet and wiser sort ; and to cause them to come 
before the King in this Parliament at the before mentioned 
day and place, with full powers from their respective com- 
munities to perform and consent to such matters as by 
common counsel shall then and there be ordained ; and 
this you will in nowise omit, as you will answer at your 
peril." 

A momentary pause ensued. The main body of the 
suitors retreated from the high sheriff, as though he had 
been a centre of repulsion. After a short but vehement 
conversation amongst themselves, one of the bettermost sort 
of yeomen, a gentleman farmer, if we may use the modern 
term, stepped forward and addressed Sir Giles : " Your 
worship well knows that we, poor commons, are not bound 
to proceed to the election. You have no right to call upon 
us to interfere. So many of the earls and barons of the 
shire, the great men, who ought to take the main trouble, 
burthen, and business of the choice of the knights upon 
themselves, are absent now in the King's service, that we 
neither can nor dare proceed to nominate those who are to 
represent the county. Such slender folk as we have no 
concern with these weighty matters. How can we tell who 
are best qualified to serve ? " 

" What of that, John Trafford," said the sheriff; " do you 
think that his grace will allow his afiairs to be delayed by 
excuses such as these ? You suitors of the shire are as 
much bound and obliged to concur in the choice of the 
county members as any baron of the realm. Do your duty ; 
I command you in the King's name." John Trafford had 
no help. Like a wise debater, he yielded to the pinch of 
the argument without confessing that he felt it : and hav- 
ing muttered a few v/ords to the sheriff, which might be 
considered as an assent, a long conference took plac^ 



AN EARLY ELECTION TO PARLIAMENT. 119 

between him and some of his brother stewards, as well as 
with the other suitors. During this confabulation several 
nods and winks of intelligence passed between Trafford and 
a well-mounted knight ; and whilst the former appeared to 
be setding the business with the suitors, the latter, who had 
been close to Sir Giles, continued gradually backing and 
sidling away through the groups of shiresmen, and just as he 
had got clear out of the ring, John Trafford declared, in a 
most sonorous voice, that the suitors had chosen Sir Richard 
de Fogeys as one of their representatives. 

The sheriff, who, keeping his eye fixed upon Sir Richard 
as he receded, had evidently suspected some manoeuvre, 
instantly ordered his bailiffs to secure the body of the mem- 
ber, "and," continued he with much vehemence, *'Sir 
Richard must be forthwith committed to custody, unless he 
gives good bail — two substantial freeholders — that he will 
duly attend in his place amongst the commons on the first 
day of the session, according to the law and usage of Parlia- 
m.ent." All this however was more easily said than done. 
Before the verbal precept had proceeded from the lips of 
the sheriff Sir Richard was galloping away at full speed 
across the fields. Off dashed the bailiffs after the member 
amidst the shouts of the surrounding crowd, who forgot all 
their grievances in the stimulus of the chase, which they 
contemplated with the perfect certainty of receiving some 
satisfaction by its termination ; whether by the escape of 
the fugitive, in which case their common enemy, the sheriff, 
would be liable to a heavy amercement ;^^ or by the capture 
of the knight, a result which would give them almost equal 
delight, by imposing a disagreeable and irksome duty upon 
an individual who was universally disliked, in consequence 
of his overbearing harshness and domestic tyranny. One of 
the two above-mentioned gratifications might be considered 

6* 



120 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

as certain. But besides these, there was a third contingent 
amusement, by no means to be overlooked, namel}^, the 
chance that in the contest those respectable and intelligent 
functionaries, the sheriff's bailiffs, might somehow or an- 
other come to some kind of harm. In this charitable 
expectation the good men of the shire were not entirely 
disappointed. Bounding along the open fields, whilst the 
welkin resounded with the cheers of the spectators, the fleet 
courser of Sir Richard sliddered on the grass, then stumbled 
and fell down the sloping side of one of the many ancient 
British entrenchments by which the plain was crossed ; and 
horse and rider rolling over, the latter deposited quite at the 
bottom of the foss, unhurt, but much discomposed. 

Horse and rider were immediately on their respective 
legs again : the horse shook himself, snorted, and was quite 
ready to .start; but Sir Richard had to regirdhis sword, and 
before he could remount the bailiffs were close at him ; 
Dick-o'-the-Gyves attempted to trip him up, John Catch - 
pole seized him by the collar of his pourpoint.^^' A scuffle 
ensued, during which the nags of the bailiffs slily took the 
opportunity of emancipating themselves from control. Dis- 
tinctly seen from the Moot-hill, the strife began and ended 
in a moment ; in what manner it had ended was declared 
without any further explanation, when the officers rejoined 
the assembly, by Dick's limping gait and the closed eye of 
his companion. In the meanwhile Sir Richard had wholly 
disappeared ; and the special return made by the sheriff to 
the writ, which I translate from the original, will best eluci- 
date the bearing of the transaction. " Sir Richard de Fogeys, 
knight, duly elected by the shire, refused to find bail for his 
appearance in Parliament at the day and place within men- 
tioned, and having grievously assaulted my bailiffs in con- 
tempt of the King, his crown and dignity, and absconded 
^° Overcoat or doublet. 



EXPULSION OF JEWS. 121 

to the Chiltern Hundreds,^^ into which liberty, not being 
shire-land or guildable, I cannot enter, I am unable to make 
any other execution of the writ as far as he is concerned." 
At the present day a nominal stewardship .connected with 
the Chiltern Hundreds, called an office of profit under the 
Crown, enables the member, by a species of juggle, to resign 
his seat. But it is not generally known that this ancient 
domain, which now affords the means of retreating out of 
the House of Commons, was in the fourteenth century em- 
ployed as a sanctuary, in which the knight of the shire took 
refuge in order to avoid being dragged into Parliament 
against his will. Being a distinct jurisdiction, in which 
the sheriff had no control, and where he could not capture 
the county member, it enabled the recusant to baffle the 
process, at least until the short session had closed. 



XXIV. 

EXPULSION OF JEWS. 
GREEN. 

[One of the first results of the meeting of the Parliament 
was the driving of the Jews from the realm. They had 
been protected by the kings as valuable subjects, who paid 
for protection with constant gifts. But they were hated 
by the people, partly through their extortion, and partly 
through religious fanaticism ; and now that England 
itself was- ready to fill the King's treasury through grants 
in Parliament, the King had no longer any cause for 
protecting them.] 

Jewish traders had followed William the Conqueror from 
Normandy, and had been enabled by his protection to 

^7 The district of the C hitter 7ts, or line of chalk-hills to tJie 
east of Bttckinghamshire. 



122 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

establish themselves in separate quarters or "Jewries" in 
all larger English towns. The Jew had no right or 
citizenship in the land. The Jewry in which he lived 
was exempt from the common law. He was simply the 
King's chattel/ and his life and goods were at the King's 
mercy. But he was too valuable a possession to be 
lightly thrown away. If the Jewish merchant had no 
standing-ground in the local court the king enabled him 
to sue before a special justiciar; his bonds ^ were de- 
posited for safety in a chamber of the royal palace at 
Westminster ; he was protected against the popular hatred 
in the free exercise of his religion and allowed to build 
synagogues and to manage his own ecclesiastical affairs 
by means of a chief rabbi. The royal protection was 
dictated by no spirit of tolerance or mercy. To the 
kings the Jew was a mere engine of finance. The wealth 
which he accumulated was wrung from him whenever the 
crown had need, and torture and imprisonment were re- 
sorted to when milder means failed. It was the gold of 
the Jew that filled the royal treasury at the outbreak of 
war or of revolt. It was in the Hebrew coffers that the 
foreign kings found strength to hold their baronage at 
bay. 

That the presence of the Jew was, at least in the earlier 
years of his settlement, beneficial to the nation at large, 
there can be little doubt. His arrival was the arrival of 
a capitalist ; and, heavy as was the usury he necessarily 
exacted, in the general insecurity of the time his loans 
gave an impulse to industry. The century which followed 
the Conquest witnessed an outburst of architectural energy 
which covered the land with castles and cathedrals ; but 
castle and cathedral alike owed their erection to the 
loans of the Jew. His own example gave a new vigour 
^ Pe7'sonal property. ^ For loans. 



EXPULSION OF JEWS. 123 

to domestic architecture. The buildings which, as at 
Lincoln and Bury St. Edmund's, still retain their name of 
" Jews' Houses " were almost the first houses of stone 
which superseded the mere hovels of the English burghers. 
Nor was their influence simply industrial. Through their 
connexion with the Jewish schools in Spain and the East 
they opened a way for the revival of physical sciences. 
A Jewish medical school seems to have existed at Oxford ; 
Roger Bacon himself studied under English rabbis. But 
the general progress of civilization now drew little help 
from the Jew, while the coming of the Cahorsine and 
Italian bankers^ drove him from the field of commercial 
finance. He fell back on the petty usury of loans to the 
poor, a trade necessarily accompanied with much of ex- 
tortion, and which roused into fiercer life the religious 
hatred against their race. Wild stories floated about of 
children carried off to be circumcised or crucified, and a 
Lincoln boy who was found slain in a Jewish house was 
canonized by popular reverence as " St. Hugh." The 
first work of the Friars was to settle in the Jewish quarters 
and attempt their conversion, but the popular fury rose too 
fast for these gentler means of reconciHation. When the 
Franciscans saved seventy Jews from hanging by their 
prayer to Henry the Third the populace angrily refused 
the brethren alms. 

But all this growing hate was met with a bold defiance. 
The picture which is commonly drawn of the Jew as timid, 
silent, crouching under oppression, however truly it may 
represent the general position of his race throughout 
mediaeval Europe, is far from being borne out by historical 
fact on this side the Channel. In England the attitude of 
the Jew, almost to the very end, was an attitude of proud 

3 Cahors in Southern France^ a?td Lucca and Florence in 
Italy ^ were the great banking towns of the tinie. 



124 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

and even insolent defiance. He knew that the royal policy 
exempted him from the common taxation, the common 
justice, the common obligations of Englishmen. Usurer, 
extortioner as the realm held him to be, the royal justice 
would secure him the repayment of his bonds. A royal 
commission visited with heavy penalties any outbreak of 
violence against the King's "chattels." The Red King* 
actually forbade the conversion of a Jew to the Christian 
faith ; it was a poor exchange, he said, that would rid him 
of a valuable property and give him only a subject. We 
see in such a case as that of Oxford the insolence that 
grew out of this consciousness of the royal protection. 
Here as elsewhere the Jewry was a town within a town, 
with its own language, its own religion and law, its peculiar 
commerce, its peculiar dress. No city bailiff could penetrate 
into the square of little alleys which lay behind the present 
Town Hall ; the Church itself was powerless to prevent a 
synagogue from rising in haughty rivalry over against the 
cloister of St. Frideswide. Prior Philip of St. Frideswide 
complains bitterly of a certain Hebrew who stood at his 
door as the procession of the saint passed by, mocking at ^ 
the miracles which were said to be \vrought at her shrine. 
Halting and then walking firmly on his feet, showing his 
hands clenched as if with palsy and then flinging open his 
fingers, the Jew claimed gifts and oblations from the crowd 
that flocked to St. Frideswide's shrine on the ground that 
such recoveries of life and limb were quite as real as any 
that Frideswide ever wrought. Sickness and death in the 
prior's story avenge the saint on her blasphemer, but no 
earthly power, ecclesiastical or civil, seems to have ventured 
to deal with him. A more daring act of fanaticism showed 
the temper of the Jews even at the close of Henry the 
Third's reign. As the usual procession of scholars and 
'* William Rufiis. 



EXPULSION OF JEWS. 125 

citizens returned from St. Frideswide's on the Ascension 
Day of 1268 a Jew suddenly burst from a group of his com- 
rades in front of the synagogue, and wrenching the crucifix 
from its bearer trod it under foot. But even in presence of such 
outrage as this the terror of the Crown sheltered the Oxford 
Jews from any burst of popular vengeance. The sentence 
of the King condemned them to set up a cross of marble 
on the spot where the crime was committed, but even this 
sentence was in part remitted, and a less offensive place 
was found for the cross in an open plot by Merton College. 
Up to Edward's day indeed the royal protection had 
never wavered. Henry the Second granted the Jews a 
right of burial outside every city where they dwelt. Richard 
punished heavily a massacre of the Jews at York, and 
organized a mixed court of Jews and Christians for the 
registration of their contracts. John suffered none to 
plunder them save himself, though he once wrested from 
them a sum equal to a year's revenue of his realm. The 
troubles of the next reign brought in a harvest greater than 
even the royal greed could reap ; the Jews grew wealthy 
enough to acquire estates ; and only a burst of popular 
feeling prevented a legal decision which would have enabled 
them to own freeholds. But the sack of Jewry after Jewry 
showed the popular hatred during the Barons' war, and at 
its close fell on the Jews the more terrible persecution of 
the law. To the cry against usury and the religious fanati- 
cism which threatened them was now added the jealousy 
with which the nation that had grown up round the Charter 
regarded all exceptional jurisdictions or exemptions from 
the common law and the common burthens of the realm. 
As Edward looked on the privileges of the Church or the 
baronage, so his people looked on the privileges of the 
Jews. The growing weight of the Parliament told against 
them. Statute after statute hemmed them in. They were 



126 PROSE READiNGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

forbidden to hold real property, to employ Christian servants, 
to move through the streets without the two white tablets of 
wool on their breasts which distinguished their race. They 
were prohibited from building new synagogues or eating 
with Christians or acting as physicians to them. Their 
trade, already crippled by the rivalry of the bankers of 
Cahors, was annihilated by a royal order which bade them 
renounce usury under, pain of death. At last persecution 
could do no more, and Edward, eager at the moment to 
find supplies for his treasur)--, and himself swayed by the 
fanaticism of his subjects, bought the grant of a fifteenth 
from clergy and laity by consenting to drive the Jews from 
his realm. No share of the enormities which accompanied 
this expulsion can fall upon the King, for he not only 
suffered the fugitives to take their personal wealth with them 
but punished with the halter those who plundered them at 
sea. But the expulsion was none the less cruel. Of the sixteen 
thousand who preferred exile to apostasy few reached the 
sliores of France. Many were wrecked, others robbed and 
thrown overboard. One ship-master turned out a crew of 
wealthy merchants on to a sandbank and bade them call 
a new Moses to save them from the sea. 



XXV. 

WANDERINGS OF THE BRUCE. 

SCOTT. 

[While thus ruUng within his realm, Edward aimed in his 
work without it at the union under one government of the 
different kingdoms which parted Britain between them. 
In the early years of his reign he succeeded in conquer- 



WANDERINGS OF THE BRUCE. 127 

ing Wales and uniting it to the English Crown. In his 
later years Edward was drawn in like fashion to attempt 
the union of Scotland with England. There was a con- 
test among the Scotch lords for the Crown of the country, 
and as all appealed to Edward he gave it to John Balliol, 
but on terms that made him a vassal of England. Balliol 
soon revolted against this, and Edward drove him from 
his realm and conquered Scotland. But the Scottish 
people were as stout-hearted and fond of freedom as the 
English themselves ; and they soon rose under William 
Wallace, drove out the English, and invaded England in 
turn. Edward however won a great victory over Wallace 
at Stirling, and again subdued the land. Wallace was 
betrayed into his hands and put to death, and for a while 
all seemed quiet. But in Edward's last years Robert Bruce, 
a baron both of England and Scotland, claimed the Scotch 
Crown and stirred up fresh resistance. Edward himself 
died as he marched against him, but his troops defeated 
Bruce, and he was driven to wander over the land, pur- 
sued by the English and those Scots who supported them.] 

About the time when the Bruce was yet at the head of 
but few men. Sir Aymer de Valence, who was Earl of Pem- 
broke,^ together with John of Lorn,^ came into Galloway,^ 
each of them being at the head of a large body of men. 
John of Lorn had a bloodhound with him, which it was 
said had formerly belonged to Robert Bruce himself ; and 
having been fed by the King with his own hands, it became 
attached to him, and would follow his footsteps anywhere, 
as dogs are well known to trace their master's steps, whether 
they be bloodhounds or not. By means of this hound, 
John of Lorn thought he should certainly find out Bruce, 
and take revenge on him for the death of his relation 
Comyn.* 

^ A7td English regent in Scotland. ^ The chieftain oj 

what is now Argyleshire. ^ Soiith-western Scotland, where 

Brnce was lurking. ^ John Corny 11, another claimant of the 

Scottish Croivn, who77i Bruce had stabbed i?i a church. 



128 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

When these two armies advanced upon King Robert, he 
at first thought of fighting with the EngHsh Earl; but 
becoming aware that John of Lorn was moving round with 
another large body to attack him in the rear, he resolved to 
avoid fighting at that time, lest he should be oppressed by 
numbers. For this purpose, the King divided the men he 
had with him into three bodies, and commanded them to 
retreat by three different ways, thinking the enemy would 
not know which party to pursue. He also appointed a 
place at which they were to assemble again. But when 
John of Lorn came to the place where the army of Bruce 
had been thus divided, the bloodhound took his course 
after one of these divisions, neglecting the other two, and 
then John of Lorn knew that the King must be in that 
party; so he also made no pursuit after the two other 
divisions of the Scots, but followed that which the dog 
pointed out, with all his men. 

The King again saw that he was followed by a large 
body, and being determined to escape from them, if pos- 
sible, he made all the people who were with him disperse 
themselves different ways, thinking thus that the enemy 
must needs lose trace of him. He kept only one man 
along with him, and that was his own foster-brother, or the 
son of his nurse. When John of Lorn came to the place 
where Bruce's companions had dispersed themselves, the 
bloodhound, after it had snufted up and down for a little, 
quitted the footsteps of all the other fugitives, and ran 
barking upon the track of two men out of* the whole 
number. Then John of Lorn knew that one of these two 
must needs be King Robert. Accordingly, he commanded 
five of his men that were speedy of foot to chase after him, 
and either make him prisoner, or slay him. The High- 
landers started off accordingly, and ran so fast, that they 
gained sight of Robert and his foster-brother. The King 



WANDERINGS OF THE BRUCE. 129 

asked his companion what help he could give him, and his 
foster-brother answered he was ready to do his best. So 
these two turned on the five men of John of Lorn, and 
killed them all. It is to be supposed they were better 
armed than the others were, as well as stronger and more 
desperate. 

But by this time Bruce was very much fatigued, and yet 
they dared not sit down to take any rest; for whenever 
they stopped for an instant, they heard the cry of the 
blood-hound behind them, and knew by that, that their 
enemies were coming up fast after them. At length, they 
came to a wood, through which ran a small river. Then 
Bruce said to his foster-brother, " Let us wade down this 
stream for a great way, instead of going straight across, and 
so this unhappy hound will lose the scent ; for if we were 
once clear of him, I should not be afraid of getting away 
from the pursuers." Accordingly the King and his attendant 
walked a great way down the stream, taking care to keep 
their feet in the water, which could not retain any scent 
where they had stepped. Then they came ashore on the 
further side from the enemy, and went deep into the wood 
before they stopped to rest themselves. In the meanwhile, 
the hound led John of Lorn straight to the place where the 
King went into the water, but there the dog began to be 
puzzled, not knowing where to go next ; for you are well 
aware that the running water could not retain the scent of 
a man's foot, like that which remains on turf. So John 
of Lorn seeing the dog was at fault, as it is called, that 
is, had lost the track of that which he pursued, gave 
up the chase, and returned to join with Aymer de 
Valence. 

But King Robert's adventures were not yet ended. His 
foster-brother and he had rested themselves in the wood, 
but they had got no food, and were become extremely 



130 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

hungry. They walked on however, in hopes of coming to 
some habitation. At length, in the midst of the forest, they 
met with three men who looked like thieves or ruffians. 
They were well armed, and one of them bore a sheep on 
his back, which it seemed as if they had just stolen. They 
saluted the King civilly ; and he, replying to their saluta- 
tion, asked them where they were going. The men 
answered, they were seeking for Robert Bruce, for that 
they intended to join with him. The King answered, that 
if they would go with him, he would conduct them where 
they would find the Scottish King. Then the man who had 
spoken, changed countenance, and Bruce, who looked 
sharply at him, began to suspect that the ruffian guessed 
who he was, and that he and his companions had some 
design against his person in order to gain the reward which 
had been offered for his life. So he said to them, '' My 
good friends, as we are not well acquainted with each other, 
you must go before us, and we will follow near to you." 

" You have no occasion to suspect any harm from us," 
answered the man. 

"Neither do I suspect any," said Bruce ; *' but this is the 
way in which I choose to travel." 

The men did as he commanded, and thus they travelled 
till they came together to a waste and ruinous cottage, 
where the men proposed to dress some part of the sheep 
which their companion was carrying. The King was glad 
to hear of food ; but he insisted that there should be two 
fires kindled, one for himself and his foster-brother at one 
end of the house, the other at the other end for their three 
companions. The men did as he desired. They broiled a 
quarter of mutton for themselves, and gave another to the 
King and his attendant. They were obliged to eat it with- 
out bread or salt ; but as they were very hungry, they were 
glad to get food in any shape, and partook of it very 
heartily. 



WANDERINGS OF THE BRUCE. 131 

Then so heavy a drowsiness fell on King Robert, that, 
for all the danger he was in, he could not resist an inclina- 
tion to sleep. But first, he desired his foster-brother to 
watch while he slept, for he had great suspicion of their 
new acquaintances. His foster-brother promised to keep 
awake, and did his best to keep his word. But the King 
had not been long asleep ere his foster-brother fell into a 
deep slumber also, for he had undergone as much fatigue 
as the King. When the three villains saw the King and 
his attendant asleep, they made signs to each other, and 
rising up at once, drew their swords with the purpose to 
kill them both. But the King slept but lightly, and for as 
little noise as the traitors made in rising, he was awakened 
by it, and starting up, drew his sword, and went to meet 
them. At the same moment he pushed his foster-brother 
with his foot, to awaken him, and he got on his feet ; but 
ere he got his eyes cleared to see what was about to happen, 
one of the ruffians that were advancing to slay the King, 
killed him with a stroke of his sword. The King was now 
alone, one man against three, and in the greatest danger of 
his life ; but his amazing strength, and the good armour 
which he wore, freed him once more from this great peril, 
and he killed the three men, one after another. 

He then left the cottage, very sorrowful for the death of 
his faithful foster-brother, and took his direction towards 
the place where he had appointed his men to assemble 
after their dispersion. It was now near night, and the place 
of meeting being a farm-house, he went boldly into it, where 
he found the mistress, an old true-hearted Scotswoman, 
sitting alone. Upon seeing a stranger enter, she asked him 
who and what he was. The King answered that he was 
a traveller, who was journeying through the country. 

" All travellers," answered the good woman, " are welcome 
here, for the sake of one." 



132 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

*' And who is that one," said the King, " for wliose sake 
you make all travellers welcome ? " 

" It is our rightful king, Robert the Bruce," answered the 
mistress, " who is the lawful lord of this country ', and 
although he is now pursued and hunted after with 
hounds and horns, I hope to live to see him King over 
all Scotland." 

" Since you love him so well, dame," said the King, 
" know that you see him before you. I am Robert the 
Bruce." 



XXVI. 
BANNOCKBURN. 

SCOTT. 

[After years of this wandering life the Scots gathered again 
round Bruce, and little by little he won back the land 
from the English till only Stirling was left in their hands. 
Edward the Second, a weak and bad king, resolved to 
save this castle ; and led a great army to its relief. Bruce 
met it at Bannockburn, on the plain in front of Stirling, 
and his victory established Scottish freedom.] 

Bruce studied how he might supply, by address and 
stratagem, what he wanted in numbers and strength. He 
knew the superiority of the English both in their heavy- 
armed cavalry, which were much better mounted and 
arined than that of the Scots, and in their archers, who 
were better trained than any- others in the world. Both these 
advantages he resolved to provide against. With this pur- 
pose, he led his army down into a plain near Stirling, called 
the Park, near w^hich, and beneath it, the English army 
must needs pass through a- boggy country, broken with 



BANNOCKBURN. 133 

water-courses, while the Scots occupied hard dry ground. 
He then caused all the ground upon the front of his line of 
battle, where cavalry were likely to act, to be dug full of 
holes, about as deep as a man's knee. They were filled 
with light brushwood, and the turf was laid on the top, so 
that it appeared a plain field, while in reality it was as full 
of these pits as a honeycomb is of holes. He also, it is 
said, caused steel spikes, called calthrops, to be scattered up 
and down in the plain, where the English cavalry were most 
likely to advance, trusting in that manner to lame and 
destroy their horses. 

\Vlien the Scottish army was drawn up, the line stretched 
north and soutn. On the south, it was terminated by the 
banks of the brook called Bannockburn, which are so rocky 
that no troops could attack them there. On the left, the 
Scottish line extended near to the town of Stirling. Bruce 
reviewed his troops very carefully ; all the useless servants, 
drivers of carts, and such like, of whom there were very 
many, he ordered to go behind a height, afterwards, in 
memory of the event, called the Gillies' hill, that is, the 
Servants' hill. He then spoke to the soldiers, and expressed 
his determination to gain the victory, or to lose his life on 
the field of battle. He desired that all those who did not 
propose to fight to the last should leave the field before 
the battle began, and that none should remain except those 
who were determined to take the issue of victory or death, 
as God should send it. 

When the main body of his army was thus placed in 
order, the King posted Randolph,^ with a body of horse, 
near to the church of St. Ninian's, commanding him to use 
the utmost diligence to prevent any succours from being 
thrown into Stirling castle. He then despatched James of 

^ His nephew f Earl of Moray, 



134 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Douglas,^ and Sir Robert Keith, the Mareschal of the 
Scottish army, in order that they might survey, as nearly as 
they could, the English force, which was now approaching 
from Falkirk. They returned with information, that the 
approach of that vast host was one of the most beautiful 
and terrible sights which could be seen, — that the whole 
country seemed covered with men-at-arms on horse and 
foot, — that the number of standards, banners, and pennons 
(all flags of different kinds), made so gallant a show, that the 
bravest and most numerous host in Christendom might be 
alarmed to see King Edward moving against them. 

It was upon the 23rd of June (13 14) the King of 
Scatland heard the news that the English army were 
approaching Stirling. He drew out his army, therefore, in 
the order which had been resolved on. After a short time, 
Bruce, who was looking out anxiously for the enemy, saw a 
body of English cavalry trying to get into Stirling from the 
eastward. This was the Lord Clifford, who, with a chosen 
body of eight hundred horse had been detached to relieve 
the castle. "See, Randolph," said the King to his nephew, 
"there is a rose fallen from your chaplet." By this he 
meant, that Randolph had lost some honour, by suffering 
the enemy to pass where he had been stationed to hinder 
them. Randolph made no reply, but rushed against Clifford 
with little more than half his number. The Scots were 
on foot. The English turned to charge them with their 
lances, and Randolph drew up his men in close order to 
receive the onset. He seemed to be in so much danger, 
that Douglas asked leave of the King to go and assist him. 
The King refused him permission. " Let Randolph," he 
said, "redeem his own fault; I cannot break the order 
of battle for his sake." Still the danger appeared greater, 

* Sir James, the founder of the great house of Douglas. 



I 



BANNOCKBURN. 135 

and the English 'horse seemed entirely to encompass the 
small handful of Scottish infantry. " So please you/' said 
Douglas to the King, "my heart will not suffer me to 
stand idle and see Randolph perish — I must go to his 
assistance." He rode off accordingly; but long before 
they had reached the place of combat, they saw the English 
horses galloping off, many with empty saddles. 

'• Halt ! " said Douglas to his men, "■ Randolph has 
gained the day; since we were not soon enough to help 
him in the battle, do not let us lessen his glory by approach- 
ing the field." Now, that was nobly done; especially as 
Douglas and Randolph were always contending which 
should rise highest in the good opinion of the King and 
the nation. 

The van of the English army now came in sight, and a 
number of their bravest knights drew near to see what the 
Scots were doing. They saw King Robert dressed in his 
armour, and distinguished by a gold crown, which he wore 
over his helmet. He was not mounted on his great war- 
horse, because he did not expect to fight that evening. 
But he rode on a little pony up and down the ranks of his 
army, putting his men in order, and carried in his hand 
a sort of battle-axe made of steel. When the King saw 
the English horsemen draw near, he advanced a little 
before his own men, that he might look at them more 
nearly. There was a knight among the English, called Sir 
Henry de Bohun, who thought this would be a good oppor- 
tunity to gain great fame to himself, and put an end to the 
war, by killing King Robert. The King being poorly 
mounted, and having no lance, Bohun galloped on him 
suddenly and furiously, thinking, with his long spear, and his 
tall powerful horse, easily to bear him down to the ground. 
King Robert saw him, and permitted him to come very near, 
then suddenly turned his pony a little to one side, so that 



136 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Sir Henry missed him with the lance-point, and was in the 
act of being carried past him ' by the career of his horse. 
But as he passed, King Robert rose up in his stirrups, and 
struck Sir Henry on the head with his battle-axe so terrible 
a blow, that it broke to pieces his iron helmet as if it had 
been a nut-shell, and hurled him from his saddle. He was 
dead before he reached the ground. This gallant action 
was blamed by the Scottish leaders, who thought Bruce 
ought not to have exposed himself to so much danger when 
the safety of the whole army depended on him. The King 
only kept looking at his weapon, which was injured by the 
force of the blow, and said, "I have broken my good 
battle-axe." 

The next morning, being the 24th June, at break of day, 
the battle began in terrible earnest. The English as they 
advanced saw the Scots getting into line. The Abbot of 
Inchaffray walked through their ranks barefooted, and 
exhorted them to fight for their freedom. They kneeled 
down as he passed, and prayed to Heaven for victory. 
King Edward, who saw this, called out, " They kneel down 
— they are asking forgiveness." " Yes," said a celebrated 
English baron, called Ingelram de Umphraville, " but they 
ask it from God, not from us — these men will conquer, or 
die upon the field." 

The English King ordered his men to begin the battle. 
The archers then bent their bows, and began to shoot so 
closely together, that the arrows fell like flakes of snow on 
a Christmas day. They killed many of the Scots, and 
might, as at Falkirk, and other places, have decided the 
victory ; but Bruce, as I told you before, was prepared for 
them. He had in readiness a body of men-at-arms, well 
mounted, who rode at full gallop among the archers, and as 
they had no weapon save their bows and arrows, which they 
could not use when they were attacked hand to hand, they 



BANNOCKBURN. 137 

were cut down in great numbers by the Scottish horsemen, 
and thown into total confusion. 

The fine EngHsh cavalry then advanced to support their 
archers, and to attack the Scottish line. But coming over 
the ground which was dug full of pits, the horses fell into 
these holes, and the riders lay tumbling about, without any 
means of defence, and unable to rise from the weight 
of their armour. The Englishmen began to fall into 
general disorder; and the Scottish King, bringing up 
more of his forces, attacked and pressed them still more 
closely. 

On a sudden, while the battle was obstinately maintained 

on both sides, an event happened which decided the 

victory. The servants and attendants on the Scottish camp 

had, as I told you, been sent behind the army to a place 

afterwards called the Gillies' hill. But when they saw that 

their masters were likely to gain the day, they rushed from 

their place of concealment with such weapons as they could 

get, that they might have their share in the victory and in 

the spoil. The English, seeing them come suddenly over 

the hill, mistook this disorderly rabble for a new army 

coming up to sustain the Scots, and, losing all heart, began 

to shift every man for himself. Edward himself left the 

field as fast as he could ride. A valiant knight. Sir Giles 

de Argentine, much renowned in the wars of Palestine, 

attended the King till he got him out of the press of the 

combat. But he would retreat no farther. " It is not my 

custom," he said, " to fly." With that he took leave of the 

King, set spurs to his horse, and calling out his war-cry of 

Argentine ! Argentine ! he rushed into the thickest of the 

Scottish ranks, and was killed. 



138 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

XXVII. 
CHAUCER. 

BROOKE. 

[Bannockburn settled the question of Scotch independence, 
though the war Hngered on into the reign of Edward 
the Second's successor, his son, Edward the Third. The 
reign of this King is one of the most memorable in 
our history. In spite of the troubles of Edward the 
Second's time, the great measures of Edward the First 
now did their work : and England, secure in the posses- 
sion of a firm governm.ent, of unhindered justice, and 
of a national Parliament, sprang suddenl}'- forward into 
one of the leading powers of the world. It won its first 
great victories, and it produced its first great singer. 
Geoffrey Chaucer is the noblest and most beautiful em- 
bodiment of his time. He was the son of a London 
vintner, born in 1340, who in youth became a page to 
the wife of one of the King's sons, and made a short 
campaign in France, when Edward was at the height of 
his glory. Chaucer's warlike career was luckless ; he 
was taken prisoner, ransomed, and returned to court to 
write verses after the fashion of the French poetry of the 
feme, and, as some suppose, to love as lucklessly as he had 
fought. When he had reached thirty however his powers 
began to show themselves more nobly. In the twelve 
years fron; 1372 to 1384 he went for the King on some 
diplomatic missions ; and three of these were to Italy. 
This was the turning-point of his career ; contact with 
Italian poetry spurred Chaucer into himself becoming a 
great poet.] 

At that time the great Italian literature, which inspired 
then, and still inspires, European literature, had reached 
fall growth, and it opened to Chaucer a new world of art. 
If he read the Vita Nuova and the Divina Comniedia 



CHAUCER. 139 

of Dante,^ he knew for the first time the power and 
range of poetry. He read the Sonnets of Petrarca, and 
he learnt what is meant by " form " in poetry. H-e read 
the tales of Boccaccio, who made ItaHan prose,^ and in 
them he first saw how to tell a story exquisitely. Petrarca 
and Boccaccio he may even have met, but he never saw 
Dante, who had died years before at Ravenna in 132 1. 
When he came back from these journeys he was a new 
man. He threw aside the romantic poetry of France, 
and laughed at it in his gay and kindly manner in the 
Rivie of Sir Thopas, which was afterwards made one of 
the Cajiterbui'v Tales. His chief work of this time bears 
witness to the influence of Italy. It was Troylus and 
Creseide^ which is a translation, with many changes and 
additions, of the Filostrato of Boccaccio. The additions 
(and he nearly doubled the poem) are stamped with his 
own peculiar tendernes's, vividness, and simplicity. His 
changes from the original are all towards the side of purity, 
good taste, and piety. 

We meet the further influence of Boccaccio in the 
birth of some of the Canterbury Tales, and of Petrarca 
in the tales themselves. To this time is now referred the 
tale of the Second Nun, that of the Doctor, the Man 
of Law, the Clerk, the Prioress, the Squire, the Franklin, 
Sir Thopas, and the first draft of the Knight's Tale, 
borrowed with much freedom from the Teseide of Boc- 
caccio. The other poems of this period were the Parla- 
mejit of Foules ^' the Compleynt of Mars, Anelida, and Arcite, 

^ Dante was the first g7'eat Italian poet. His " Vita Nuova " 
is a prose accotint of his early life and love, with canzonets 
scattered thro2ighoict it. His '''' Divina Comniedia''^ is a poem 
which tells of his journeying th7:o2tgh Hell, Pnrgatory, and 
Heaven. ^ Boccaccio's collection of tales was called the 

" De earner 071.^^ "^ Of bi7'ds. They gather a7id chat " in 

parliame7it." 



I40 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Boece^ and The Former Age, the Lines to Adam Scrivener^ 
and the HousofFame. In the passion with which Chaucer 
describes the ruined love of Troilus and Anelida, some have 
traced the lingering sorrow of his early love affair. But if 
this be true, it was now passing away, for in the creation of 
Pandarus in the Troilus^ and in the delightful fun of the 
Parlamcnt of Fotdes, a new Chaucer appears, the humorous 
poet of the Cantei-hury Tales. In the active business life 
he led during this period he was likely to grow out of mere 
sentiment, for he was not only employed on service abroad, 
but also at home. In 1374 he was Comptroller of the 
Wool Customs,^ in 1382 of the Petty Customs, and in 
1386 Member of Parliament for Kent. 

It is in the next period, from 1384 to 1390, that 
Chaucer left behind Italian influence as he had left 
French, and became entirely himself, entirely English. 
The comparative poverty in which he now lived, and the 
loss of his offices, for in John of Gaunt's ^ absence he lost 
Court favour, may have given him more time for study, 
and the retired life of a poet. At least in the Legende oj 
Good Womeiiy the prologue to which was written in 1385, 
we find him a closer student than ever of books and of 
nature. His appointment as Clerk of the Works in 1389 
brought him again into contact with men. He superin- 
tended the repairs and building at the Palace of West- 
minster, the Tower, and St George's Chapel, Windsor, till 
July, 1391, when he was superseded, and lived on pensions 
allotted to him by Richard and by Henry IV., after he had 
sent that King in 1399 his Complemi to his Purse. Before 



* The " dcstoms " or export duties 07i wool 'we7'e then the 
most important sources of tJi4 King's revenue. ^ fohn of 

Gmmt, the Duke of Lancaster, had been Chaucer's patron in 
early life. He now lost power, a7id left Englajid to seek for a 
crown in Spain, which he never gained. 



CHAUCER. 141 

1390, however, he had added to his great work its best 
tales, those of the Miller, the Reeve, the Cook, the Wife of 
Bath, the Merchant, the Friar, the Nun, Priest, Pardoner, 
and perhaps the Sompnour. The Prologue was probably- 
written in 1388. In these, in their humour, in their vivid- 
ness of portraiture, in their ease of narration, and in the 
variety of their characters, Chaucer shines supreme. A few 
smaller poems belong to his best time, such as Truth and 
the Moder of God. During the last ten years of his life, 
which may be called the period of his decay, he wrote 
some small poems, and along with the Co7iipleynte of Venus, 
and a prose treatise on the Astrolabe, four more tales, the 
Canon's-yeoman's, Manciple's, Monk's and Parsone's. The 
last was written the year of his death, 1400. Having done 
this work, he died in a house under the shadow of the Abbey 
of Westminster. Within the walls of the Abbey Church, 
the first of the poets who lies there, that " sacred and 
happy spirit" sleeps. 

Born of the tradesman class, Chaucer was in every 
sense of the word one of our finest gentlemen ; tender, 
graceful in thought, glad of heart, humorous, and satirical 
without unkindness ; sensitive to every change of feeling 
in himself and others, and therefore full of sympathy; 
brave in misfortune, even to mirth, and doing well and 
with careful honesty all he undertook. His first and great 
delight was in human nature, and he makes us love the 
noble characters in his poems and feel with kindliness 
towards the baser and ruder sort. He never sneers, 
for he had a wide charity, and we can always smile in 
his pages at the follies and forgive the sins of men. He 
had a true and chivalrous regard for women, and his wife 
and he must have been very happy if they fulfilled the ideal 
he had of marriage. He lived in aristocratic society, and 
yet he thought him the greatest gentleman who was " most 



142 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY, 

vertuous alway, prive, and pert (open), and most entendeth 
aye to do the gentil dedes that he can." He lived frankly 
among men, and as we have seen, saw many different types 
of men, and in his own time filled many parts as a man of 
the world and of business. Yet, with all this active and 
observant life, he was commonly very quiet and kept m,uch 
to himself. The Host in the Tales japes at him for his 
lonely, abstracted air. " Thou lookest as thou wouldest 
find a hare. And ever on the ground I see thee stare." 

Being a good scholar, he read morning and night alone, 
and he says that after his (office) work he would go home 
and sit at another book as dumb as a stone, till his look 
was dazed. While at study, and when he was making of 
songs and ditties, " nothing else that God had made " had 
any interest for him. There was but one thing that roused 
him then, and that too he liked to enjoy alone. It 
was the beauty of the morning and the fields, the woods, 
and streams, and flowers, and the singing of the little birds. 
This made his heart full of revel and solace, and when 
spring came after winter, he rose with the lark and cried, 
" Farewell my book and my devotion." He was the first 
who made the love of nature a distinct element in our 
poetry. He was the first who, in spending the whole day 
gazing alone on the daisy, set going that lonely delight in 
natural scenery which is so special a mark of our later poets. 
He lived thus a double life, in and out of the world, but 
never a gloomy one. For he was fond of mirth and good 
living, and when he grew towards age was portly of waist, 
*'no poppet to embrace." But he kept to the end his 
elvish countenance,*^ the shy, delicate, halt-mischievous 
face which looked on men from its grey hair and forked 
beard, and was set off by his dark-coloured dress and hood. 

^ Elves were small fairy-folk. 



CHAUCER. 143 

A knife and inkhorn hung on his dress, we see a rosary in 
his hand, and when he was alone he walked swiftly. 

Of his work it is not easy to speak briefly, because 
of its great variety. Enough has been said of it, with 
the exception of his most complete creation, the Canter- 
bury Tales. It will be seen from the dates given above 
that they were not written at one time. They are not, and 
cannot be looked on as a whole. Many were written in- 
dependently, and then fitted into the framework of the 
Prologue in 1388. At that time a number more were 
written, and the rest added at intervals till his death. In 
fact, the whole thing was done much in the same way 
as Mr. Tennyson has written his Idylls of the King. The 
manner in which he knitted them together was very simple 
and hkely to please English people. The holiday ex- 
cursions of the time were the pilgrimages, and the most 
famous and the pleasantest pilgrimage to go, especially 
for Londoners, was the three or four days' journey to see 
the shrine of St. Thomas'" at Canterbury. Persons of all 
ranks in life met and travelled together, starting from a 
London inn. Chaucer seized on this as the frame in which 
to set his pictures of life. He grouped around the jovial host 
of the Tabard Inn men and women of every class of society 
in England, set them on horseback to ride to Canterbury, 
and made each of them tell a tale. 

No one could hit off a character better, and in his 
Prologue, and in the prologues to the several Tales, the 
whole of the new, vigorous English society which had 
grown up since Edward I. is painted with astonishing 
vividness. " I see all the pilgrims in the Canterbury 
Tales," says Dryden, "their humours, their features, and 
their very dress, as distinctly as if I had supped with 

7 TJiomas Becket, luho after his death became the most popular 
of English sai7its. 

1^ 



144 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

them at the Tabard in Southwark." The Tales themselves 
take in the whole range of the poetry of the middle ages ; 
the legend of the saint, the romance of the knight, the 
wonderful fables of the traveller, the coarse tale of common 
life, the love story, the allegory, the satirical lay, and the 
apologue. And they are pure tales. He has been said to 
have had dramatic power, but he has none. He is simply 
our greatest story-teller in verse. All the best tales are told 
easily, sincerely, with great grace, and yet with so much 
homeliness, that a child would understand them. Some- 
times his humour is broad, sometimes sly, sometimes gay, 
sometimes he brings tears into our eyes, and he can make 
us smile or be sad as he pleases. 

He had a very fine ear for the music of verse, and the 
tale and the verse go together like voice and music. 
Indeed, so softly flowing and bright are they, that to read 
them is like listening in a meadow full of sunshine to a clear 
stream ripplmg over its bed of pebbles. The English in 
which they are written is almost the English of our time ; 
and it is literary English. Chaucer made our tongue into 
a true means of poetry. He did more, he welded together 
the French and English elements in our language and made 
them into one English tool for the use of literature, and all 
our prose writers and poets derive their tongue from the 
language of the Canterbury Tales. They give him honour 
for this, but still more for that he was the first English 
artist. Poetry is an art, and the artist in poetry is one who 
writes for pure pleasure and for nothing else the thing he 
writes, and who desires to give to others the same fine pleasure 
by his poems which he had in writing them. The thing he 
most cares about is that the form in which he puts his 
thoughts or feelings may be perfectly fitting to the subject, 
and as beautiful as possible — but for this he cares very 
greatly ; and in this Chaucer stands apart from the other poets 



CRESSY. 145 

of his time, Gower wrote with a moral object, and nothing 
can be duller than the form in which he puts his tales. The 
author of Pie7's the Ploughman wrote with the object of reform 
in social and ecclesiastical affairs, and his form is uncouth 
and harsh. Chaucer wrote because he was full of emotion 
and joy in his own thoughts, and thought that others would 
weep and be glad with him, and the only time he ever 
moralizes is in the Tales of the Yeoman and the Manciple, 
written in his decay. He has, then, the best right to the 
poet's name. He is our first English artist. 



XXVHI. 

CRESSY. 
MISSYONGE. 

[While Chaucer was singing, England was winning a warlike 
fame such as it had never known. The war with Scot- 
land had brought with it a quarrel with the French kings, 
who saw in the struggle of England with the Scotch an 
opportunity for getting hold of Aquitaine, the only 
English possession left in France. To meet this Edward 
the Third laid claim to the crown of France itself, in right 
of his mother, who was the daughter of a French king. 
So began a war which was to last more than a hundred 
years. At first Edward had small success ; as he trusted 
in foreign soldiers and foreign princes whom he hired 
with money ; but at last he threw himself on England 
alone, landed with an English army -in Normandy^ and 
marched upon Paris. He was forced however to fall 
back, and was pursued by the King of France, Philippe of 
Valois, as far as the Somme, where he was all but cut 
off. Luckily he found a ford, and was able to get 
across into the province of Ponthieu, where he encamped 
at the village of Creci or Cressy,] 



146 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Edward had encamped at the village of Creci, when, 
on Friday afternoon, the 25th of August, 1346, he learnt 
that the French army had crossed by the bridge of Abbe- 
ville. " Let us post ourselves here," he said. " We will 
go no further till we have seen our enemies. I have 
good reason to wait for them here, for I am on the law- 
ful inheritance of my lady mother."^ Then giving his men 
orders to be in readiness for battle on the morrow, he 
gave a supper in his tent to the earls and knights, where 
they made good cheer ; but he dismissed them early, and 
repairing to his oratory, knelt before the altar, entreating 
that if he should give battle the next day he might come 
off with honour. At midnight he went to rest, but, rising 
early, he and his son^ heard mass and communicated, as did 
most of the troops. Brave as they were, it was an anxious 
moment, for their numbers were but an eighth of those of 
the French ; and be it remembered that this was only the 
first of the long series of battles which afterwards estab- 
lished the Englishman's almost overweening confidence 
of victory. 

Whether it was because Edward wished that his son 
should have the full honour of his first battle, or that 
he desired to obviate the mischief to England of his death 
while his children were young, or that he feared Philippe 
would again balk him of his conflict should the two monarchs 
both command in person, he placed the fi.rst division under 
the command of the Prince of Wales, assisted by the Earl of 
Warwick and Sir Godfrey de Harcourt. It consisted of 800 
men-at-arms, 2,000 archers, and 1,000 Welshmen ; with them 
were certain new machines,^ never yet used in battle, though 

^ Ponthieii had been given at her maj'riage to his mother, 
Isabella of France. ^ Prijice Edward, called the Blai:k 

Pi'ince^ Jrojn the colour of his ar?notir. ^ Cressy was the 

first battle where guns and ginipowder were used. TJiey had 
been zised before in sieges. 



CRESSY. 147 

in sieges proof had sometimes been made of Friar Bacon's 
invention.* Tlie next division, under the Earl of North- 
ampton, amounted to 800 men-at-arms ^ and 1,200 archers ; 
and the reserve, which the King kept highest up on the 
hill in the rear, was of the same number. Edward then 
mounted a small palfrey, and with a white wand in his hand, 
rode along the ranks, accompanied by his two marshals, the 
Earl of Warwick and Sir Godfrey de Harcourt, going at a 
foot's pace, encouraging and entreating his troops so sweetly, 
and with so cheerful a countenance, that all took heart. By 
this time it was ten o'clock, and he returned to his own 
division, bidding his men dine heartily, and drink a glass 
after, in which matter they willingly obeyed him. They 
then packed up their cooking apparatus, returned to their 
places, and all sat down in their order, sheltering themselves 
as best they might from the showers, with their helmets and 
bows laid beside them, that they might be in full force and 
vigour when the enemy should appear. 

No such precautions had been taken by Philippe de Valois.^ 
He put his trust in the imposing array of names and huge 
numbers that he had collected. He had with him the King 
of Bohemia,'^ who, blind as he was, could not endure to miss 
a battle ; his son, Charles of Luxemburg ; Jayme, King of 
Majorca, of the House of Arragon ; the Duke of Lorraine ; 
the Count of Flanders ; and Sir John of Hainault,^ Edward's 
old friend and master in the art of war ; 8,000 knights and 



* Bacon, a Ff^anciscan friar, first mentions the composition of 
oiinpowder^ ivJiich he may have invented. ^ Men-at- 

anns iue?'e knights and their mounted foUowej's, sgnires, and 
" lances ^^ as they were called. ^ The French king. ^ fohn 
of Liixejnburg, who with his son Charles, a claimant of the 
Empire, were on the French border at the time of Edivard''s 
advance on Paris, and came to its relief. * Edward had 

married Pliilippa, daughter of the Count of Hai?iault. Her 
uncle, John, had helped Edward in his wars zvith the Scots. 



148 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

60,000 infantry, a sixth part of whom were Genoese ^ cross- 
bowmen, reputed the best sailors and the best archers. 
Early in the morning he heard mass at Abbe\'ille, and set 
forth ^t sunrise, under a heavy fall of rain ; all the nobles 
setting out, each man on his own account, without any con- 
certed plan, except that some one advised him to halt the 
cavalry and let the foot go forward, lest they should be 
trampled down by the horses. Four nobles then galloped 
forward to reconnoitre, and returning, with difficulty pushed 
through the crowds, and told the King how fresh and 
vigorous the English looked, strongly advising him to wait 
where he was for the night, and get his troops into better 
array, instead of attacking while they were wearied and 
disorganized by their disorderly march. 

Philippe had sense enough to consent, and his marshals 
rode about, shouting, " Halt, banners, in the name of St. 
Denis ! "i'^ but no one had any notion of attending. The 
fiery gentlemen thought their honour concerned in going as 
near the foe as possible ; so the. hindmost declared they 
would not stop till they were even with the front ; the front 
pushed on to be before them, till they came in sight of the 
dark-green ranks of yeomen, sitting in good order upon the 
hill of Creci ; whereupon they all came to a sudden stand, 
and fell back, so that those in the rear thought the fight had 
begun, and pressed forward or hung back, according to the 
condition of their nerves ; while the common people, who 
choked up the roads, valiantly drew their swords and 
shouted, " Kill, kill ! " and the nobles left behind struggled 
to force their way through them ; so that no one who had 
not been present could conceive the bad management and 
disorder of that day. 

9 From the Riviera, or shore of the Gulf of Genoa, all which 
Genoa ruled. France had hired them to match the English 
archers. '^^ The patron sai7it of France. 



CRESSY. 149 

The King was pushed forward unwilHngly, until, at about 
four o'clock in the afternoon, he came in sight of the Eng- 
lish, when his blood was stirred, for he bitterly hated them, 
and he called out to his marshals, " Send forward the 
Genoese, and begin the battle 1" The unfortunate Genoese 
had marched eighteen miles in heavy rain, under their 
armour, and carrying their crossbows ; and they told the 
Constable d'Eu that their strings were limp, and they were 
in no state to do good service. Out broke the Count d' 
Alengon in a passion, " This comes of cumbering ourselves 
with a ribald crew, who always fail in time of need ! " And 
the two Genoese admirals, Doria and Grimaldi, men as 
noble and as proud as himself, and far more skilful, were 
forced to do their best to confute the taunt by arraying their 
men as well as they could, while an August thunderstorm 
was raging overhead, the blackness increased by a solar 
echpse, and the crows and ravens, whose strange instinct 
scented the battle, screaming and flapping about in the 
torrents of rain and hail. 

The English yeomen meanwhile quietly rose up, each 
man in his place, so that as they stood their battalions took 
the form of a harrow, in squares like a chessboard. Each 
donned his steel cap, and drew his bowstring from the case 
where it had been kept dry ; and at that moment the cloud 
began to roll off, leaving a cleai; sky towards the west, so 
that the sun broke cheerfully out with strong, clear beams, 
which fell on the backs of the English, but dazzled and 
bHnded the eyes of their adversaries. 

The Genoese were by this time in order, and " leapt for- 
ward with a fell cry," hoping to frighten their enemies, as 
no doubt they had often done to unwarlike Italian citizens ; 
but finding the English stood still and paid no attention 
they hooted again and came forward ; then, with a third 
cry, discharged such of their crossbows as were not too 



I50 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

damp to use. Then, thick as snow, came the arrows from 
the longbows, piercing heads and arms, and through cuirasses; 
and mingled with these came large balls of iron, propelled 
from the hill above with sounds like the retreating thunder 
of the storm, doing deadly execution, and terrifying men 
and horses. The Genoese gave back ; but behind them 
were the brilliant and impatient knights, wild to press for- 
wards ; and finding the way encumbered, Philippe shouted 
the barbarous order, " Kill me those rascals, who block our 
way without reason ! " and the unhappy Italians were 
actually cut down and trampled upon on all sides by the 
very men in whose cause they were fighting. But when the 
French came within the flight of those deadly shafts, they 
brooked them as little as did the Genoese; their horses 
capered and curveted, and became unmanageable, and the 
wild Welshmen,^! rushing down with their knives, mingled 
themselves with the disordered French, and killed a great 
number. The old King of Bohemia, hearing the cries 
around, desired to know where his son Charles was, and was 
told that he was not at hand, but was probably fighting 
elsewhere. " Sirs," cried the old man, " do me this favour 
— to lead me where I may strike one stroke ! " Two of his 
knights thereupon tied the bridles of their horses to his, 
and rode on either side of him into the fray ; and there ail 
three bravely died together : while Charles, who had by no 
means such a taste, for. fighting as his father, rode safely out 
of the battle; "and I do not know which road he took," 
scornfully observes Froissart^^ 

There were French enough left to draw into some sort of 
order, with the Counts of Alengon and Flanders ; and they 
made a formidable charge, the King trying constantly to get 
to where he saw flying the banners of the English cavalry, 

1^ Edwa7'(i had .brought footmen from Wales in his army. 
^2 A canon of Liege ^ who wj-ote the sto7y of these times. 



CRESSY. 151 

but there was always a hedge of archers before him. One 
large body, however, broke through the archers, and had so 
fierce a conflict with the 800 knights of the first troop, that 
the second was forced to come to their assistance, and the 
Earl of Warwick sent Sir Thomas Norwich to the windmill 
where King Edward stood that whole day without his 
helmet, to ask him to bring up the reserve. " Is my son 
dead, or hurt, or to the earth felled ? " asked Edward. 
" No, Sir ; but he is full hardly matched ; wherefore he hath 
need of your aid." " Now, Sir Thomas," replied the King, 
" return to him, and to them that sent you hither, and say 
to them that they send no more to me as long as my son is 
alive, for any adventure that falleth; and also tell them 
that I command them to suffer the boy to win his spurs, 
for, if God be pleased, I will that this day be his, and the 
honour thereof, and to them that be about him." 

The danger had indeed been great, for young Edward 
was at one time unhorsed, and struck to the ground ; 
but one of his loving Welsh knights who carried the great 
dragon standard threw it over him as he lay, and stood 
upon it till the enemy were forced back, for, as doubtless 
the eye of the King had discerned from his station at the 
top of the hill, this impetuous charge was unsupported 
The numerous knights and men-at-arms of the French army 
could not struggle up to their comrades, impeded as they 
were by the Genoese striking right and left for their lives, 
and by the Welsh and Cornishmen, whose long knives did 
deadly execution. Some nobles fell into ditches, and were 
dragged out by their squires ; and pages and squires were 
wandering about looking for their masters at the bottom of 
the hill ; while on the slope the English chivalry^ ^ had re- 
pulsed the dangerous charge of the two Counts, and were 
cutting down the best knights of France. Only sixty 
^3 K7iights. 



152 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

knights remained around King Philippe, and his standard- 
bearer was killed before his eyes ; a hot conflict took place 
for the possession of the precious Oriflamme/* but it was 
ended by a gallant Frenchman, who leapt from his horse, 
ripped it from the shaft with his sword, wrapped it round 
his body, and rode off. Philippe's horse was killed under 
him by an arrow, and Sir John of Hainault remounted him, 
saying, "Sir, retreat while you have the opportunity; do 
not expose yourself so simply : if you have lost this battle 
you will win another time ! " and laying hold of his bridle, 
he dragged him off the field in the dusk of the summer 
evening. On they galloped, only four other nobles with 
them,, and the sounds of defeat and slaughter ringing in 
their ears, till darkness closed in upon them, and they came 
to the Castle of Broye, where the gates were closed and the 
drawbridge raised. The governor came out on the battle- 
ments, and demanded who called at such an hour. " Open, 
open. Governor," cried Philippe, "it is the fortune of 
France." 

^^ The standard of France , kept at the abbey of St, Denis, 



END OF Part t. 



READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 
PART II. 

FROM CRESSY TO CROMWELL. 



PROSE READINGS 
FROM ENGLISH HISTORY, 



PART II. 
I. 

THE PEASANT RISING. 
GREEN. 

[The victory of Cressy was the first of a series of successes 
which placed England high among military powers and 
forced France by the Treaty of Bretigny to grant to 
Edward full sovereignty of Aquitaine and the possession 
of Calais. But war brought with it suffering : and both 
countries shared in the terrible scourge of the plague 
which was called the Black Death. To the suffering caused 
by war and pestilence was added at the close of Edward's 
reign the shame of defeat. While England was exhausted 
by its victories, France woke to a fresh energy, and re- 
fusing to fulfil the terms of peace, stripped Edward of 
all his conquests save Calais, and in union with Pastille 
made herself mistress of the seas and ruined English com- 
merce. Money was squandered in desperate efforts to 
regain the old supremacy in the field ; and the pressure 
of taxation drove England to despair. The death of 
Edward the Third left the crovvn to his grandson, a 
boy named Richard the Second ; and the country felt 
the weakness of the government in a general disorder. 
Still the war called for money ; and the Parliament were 
driven to raise money by a tax, not as of old on lands, 



2 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

but on every man and woman personally, *'by head," 
which was hence called a poll-tax. This was levied from 
people who had till now been free from taxation, and who 
were just awaking to the injustice of their state as 
"serfs," or bondsmen, bound to do service in labour on 
their lords' lands. A preacher named John Ball fanned 
the discontent into a temper of rebellion ; and in 1381 
the commons rose in the Peasant Revolt.] 

As the spring went by quaint rimes passed through the 

country, and served as a summons to revolt. " John Ball," 

ran one, "greeteth you all, and doth for to understand he 

hath rung your bell. Now right and might, will and skill, 

God speed every dele." ^ " Help truth," ran another, " and 

truth shall help you ! Now reigneth pride in price, and 

covetise ^ is counted wise, and lechery withouten shame, and 

gluttony withouten blame. Envy reigneth with treason, and 

sloth is take ^ in great season. God do bote,^ for now is 

tyme ! " We recognize Ball's hand in the yet more stirring 

missives of "Jack the Miller" and "Jack the Carter." 

" Jack Miller asketh help to turn his mill aright. He hath 

grounden small, small : the King's Son of Heaven he shall 

pay for all. Look thy mill go aright with the four sailes, 

and the post stand with steadfastness. With right and with 

might, with skill and with will ; let might help right, and 

skill go before will, and right before might, so goeth our 

mill aright." " Jack Carter," ran the companion missive, 

" prays you all that ye make a good end of that ye have 

begun, and do well, and "^ye better and better : for at the 

even men heareth the day." "Falseness and guile," sang 

Jack Trewman, " have reigned too long, and truth hath been 

set under a lock, and falseness and guile reigneth in every 

stock. No man may come truth to, but if he sing * si 

dedero.' 5 True love is away that was so good, and clerks 

^ Part J i.e. every 07i^s effort, ^ Greed. ^ Held. 

* Help. -5 i.e. loiless he gives bribes to the judges. 



THE PEASANT RISING. 3 

for wealth work them woe. God do bote, for now is tmie." 
In the rude jingle of these lines began for England the 
literature of political controversy; they are the first prede- 
cessors of the pamphlets of Milton and of Burke. Rough 
as they are, they express clearly enough the mingled passions 
which met in the revolt of the peasants ; their longing for a 
right rule, for plain and simple justice ; their scorn of the 
immorality of the nobles and the infamy of the court ; their 
resentment at the perversion of the law to the cause of 
oppression. 

From the eastern and midland counties the restlessness 
spread to all England south of the Thames. But the 
grounds of discontent varied with every district. The 
actual outbreak began on the 5th of June at Dartford,^ 
where a tiler killed one of the collectors of the poll-tax in 
vengeance for a brutal outrage on his daughter. The 
county at once rose in arms. Canterbury, where " the 
whole town was of their mind," threw open its gates to 
the insurgents who plundered the Archbishop's palace and 
dragged John Ball ^ from his prison. A hundred thousand 
Kentishmen gathered round Walter Tyler of Essex and 
John Hales of Mailing to march upon London. Their 
grievance was mainly a political one. Villeinage^ was un- 
known in Kent. As the peasants poured towards Black- 
heath indeed every lawyer who fell into their hands was put 
to death ; ''not till all these were killed would the land 
enjoy its old freedom again," the Kentishmen shouted as 
.they fired the houses of the stewards and flung the rolls of 
the manor-courts^ into the flames. But this action can 
hardly have been due to anything more than sympathy with 

^' In Kent. ^ He had been throian into prison for 

seditiotts preaching. ^ The state of the serf or villeitty who 
was bonnd to labour for a lord and inight not qtdt his lands. 

^ In which the services due by the villeins were e7itered. 



4 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

the rest of the realm, the sympathy which induced the same 
men when pilgrims from the north brought news that John 
of Gaunt was setting free his bondmen to send to the Duke 
an offer to make him Lord and King of England. Nor was 
their grievance a religious one. Loilardry '^^ can have made 
little way among men whose grudge against the Archbishop 
of Canterbury sprang from his discouragement of pil- 
grimages. Their discontent was simply political ; they 
demanded the suppression of the poll-tax and better go- 
vernment ; their aim was to slay the nobles and wealthier 
clergy, to take the King into their own hands, and pass laws 
which should seem good to the Commons of the realm. 

The whole population joined the Kentishmen as they 
marched along, while the nobles were paralyzed with fear. 
The young King ^^ — he was but a boy of sixteen — addressed 
them from a boat on the river; but the refusal of his 
Council under the guidance of Archbishop Sudbury to 
allow him to land kindled the peasants to fury, and with 
cries of "Treason" the great mass rushed on London. 
On the 13th of June its gates were flung open by the 
poorer artizans within the city, and the stately palace of 
John of Gaunt ^"^ at the Savoy, the new inn of the lawyers at 
the Temple, the houses of the foreign merchants, were soon 
in a blaze. But the insurgents, as they proudly boasted, 
were " seekers of truth and justice, not thieves or robbers," 
and a plunderer found carrying off a silver vessel from the 
sack of the Savoy was flung with his spoil into the flames. 
Another body of insurgents encamped at the same time 
to the east of the city. In Essex and the eastern counties 
the popular discontent was more social than political. The 
demands of the peasants were that bondage should be 

!<> Ip Edward the Third's day John Wiclif had taught a new 
and reformed religion. His followers were called Lollards. 

" Richard the Second. ^^ xhe Duke of Lancaster, the 

Kin^s tmcle, who was hated by the people. 



THE PEASANT RISING. 5 

abolished, that tolls and imposts on trade should be done 
away with, that " no acre of land which is held in bondage 
or villeinage be held at higher rate than fourpence a year," 
in other words for a money commutation of all villein 
services. ^^ Their rising had been even earlier than that of 
the Kentishmen. Before Whitsuntide an attempt to levy 
the poll-tax gathered crowds of peasants together, armed 
with clubs, rusty swords, and bows. The royal commis- 
sioners who were sent to repress the tumult were driven from 
the field, and the Essex men marched upon London on one 
side of the river as the Kentishmen marched on the other. 
The evening of the thirteenth, the day on which Tyler entered 
the city, saw them encamped without its walls at Mile-end. 
At the same moment Highbury and the northern heights 
were occupied by the men of Hertfordshire and the villeins 
of St. Alban's, where a strife between abbot and town had 
been going on since the days of Edward the Second. 

The royal Council with the young King had taken refuge 
in the Tower, and their aim seems to have been to divide 
the forces of the insurgents. On the morning of the 
fourteenth therefore Richard rode from the Tower to Mile- 
end ^^ to meet the Essex men. " I am your King and Lord, 
good people," the boy began with a fearlessness which 
marked his bearing throughout the crisis, " what will you ? " 
** We will that you free us for ever,'' shouted the peasants, 
** us and our lands ; and that we be never named nor held 
for serfs ! " "I grant it," replied Richard ; and he bade 
them go home, pledging himself at once to issue charters 
of freedom and amnesty. A shout of joy welcomed the 
promise. Throughout the day more than thirty clerks 
were busied writing letters of pardon and emancipation,^^ 

^^ Services in labour dice by the peasants to their lords. 
^^ On the eastern road out of London. i-^ Freedom from 

serfdotn. 



6 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

and with these the mass of the Essex men and the men of 
Hertfordshire withdrew quietly to their homes. But while 
the King was successful at Mile-end a terrible doom had 
fallen on the councillors he left behind him. Richard had 
hardly quitted the Tower when the Kentishmen who had 
spent the night within the city appeared at its gates. The 
general terror was shown ludicrously enough when they 
burst in and taking the panic-stricken knights of the royal 
household in rough horse-play by the beard promised to be 
their equals and good comrades in the days to come. But 
the horse-play changed into dreadful earnest when they 
found that Richard had escaped their grasp, and the dis- 
covery of Archbishop Sudbury and other ministers in the 
chapel changed their fury into a cry for blood. The Primate 
was dragged from his sanctuary and beheaded. The same 
vengeance was wreaked on the Treasurer and the Chief 
Commissioner for the levy of the hated poll-tax, the 
merchant Richard Lyons who had been impeached by 
the Good Parliament. 

Richard meanwhile had ridden round the northern 
wall of the city to the Wardrobe near Blackfriars,^^ and 
from this new refuge he opened his negotiations with 
the Kentish insurgents. Many of these dispersed at 
the news of the King's pledge to the men of Essex, 
but a body of thirty thousand still surrounded Wat Tyler 
when Richard on the morning of the fifteenth encoun- 
tered that leader by a mere chance at Smithfield. Hot 
words passed between his train and the peasant chief- 
tain, who advanced to confer with the King, and a threat 
from Tyler brought on a brief struggle in which the 
Mayor of London, William Walworth, struck him with his 
dagger to the ground. " Kill ! kill ! " shouted the crowd, 
" they have slain our captain 1 " But Richard faced the 
^^ On the western side of London. 



k 



AGINCOURT. 7 

Kentishmen with the same cool courage with which he faced 
the men of Essex. ''What need ye, my masters?" cried 
the boy-king as he rode boldly up to the front of the bow- 
men. " 1 am your Captain and your King ; Follow me ! " 
The hopes of the peasants centred in the young sovereign ; 
one aim of their rising had been to free him from the evil 
counsellors who, as they believed, abused his youth ; and 
at his word they followed him with a touching loyalty and 
trust till he entered the Tower. His mother welcomed 
him within its walls with tears of joy. " Rejoice and praise 
God," Richard answered, "for I have recovered to-day my 
heritage which was lost and the realm of England ! " But 
he was compelled to give the same pledge of freedom 
to the Kentishmen as at Mile-end, and it was only after 
receiving his letters of pardon and emancipation that the 
yeomen dispersed to their homes. 



II. 

AGINCOURT. 
MICHELET. 

[Richard's pledge was broken ; the peasant revolt was put 
down with terrible bloodshed ; and serfdom set up again. 
But the troubles of England went on ; and though peace 
with France was won for a while, Richard's own mis- 
government at last forced England to a general rising. He 
was driven from the throne ; and his cousin Henry, the 
son of John of Gaunt, was made King in his stead as 
Henry the Fourth. Henry's whole reign was a struggle 
against treason and revolt ; and it was not till the days of 
his son, Henry the Fifth, that England was again at peace. 
To strengthen his throne, Henry the Fifth revived the 
old quarrel with France ; and landing in Normandy took 



8 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Harileur with great loss and suffering. His weakened 
army then marched for Calais ; but was overtaken on its 
way at Agincourt by the army of the French king, Charles 
the Sixth.] 

The two armies were strangely contrasted. On the 
French side might be seen three enormous squadrons, like 
three forests of lances, which in this narrow plain followed 
one another in order, and extended to a vast depth; in 
their front stood the Constable, the Princes, the Dukes 
of Orleans, of Bar, and of Alengon, the Counts of Nevers, 
of Eu, of Richemont, of Vendome, a crowd of nobles, a 
dazzling rainbow of enamelled armour, of coats of arms, 
of banners, of horses strangely masked in steel and gold. 
The French ^ad their archers too, men of the commons 
these ; but where were they to be set ? Every place was 
disposed of; no one would give up his post ; people such 
as these archers would have been a blot on so noble a 
gathering. There were cannons too, but it does not seem 
that they were used ; probably no more room could be 
found for them than for the bowmen. On the other side 
stood the English army. Its outer seeming was poor 
enough. The archers had no armour — often no shoes ; they 
had wretched headpieces of boiled leather, or even of osier, 
guarded by a cross-piece of iron ; the axes and hatchets 
hung at their belts gave them the look of carpenters. 
Many of these good workmen had loosed their belts to 
work the more easily, first to bend the bow, then to wield 
the axe, when time came for leaving behind them the 
line of sharpened stakes which protected their front and for 
hewing at the motionless masses which stood before them. 

For strange, incredible as it may seem, it is certain that 
the French army could not move, either to fight or fly. 
In the after struggle the rear-guard alone made its escape. 
At the critical moment indeed of the battle, when old 



AGINCOURT. 9 

Thomas of Erpingham, after putting the EngUsh army in 
array, threw up his staff in the air, and cried " Now strike ! " 
while the EngUsh repUed with a shout of ten thousand 
men, the French army, to their great surprise, remained 
immoveable. Horses and horsemen all seemed enchanted 
or dead in their armour. In reality these great war-horses, 
under the weight of their heavy riders and of their huge 
caparisons of iron, had sunk deeply in the thick clay on 
which they stood ; they were so firmly fixed that it was 
with difficulty that they disengaged themselves in an attempt 
to advance. But their advance was only step by step. The 
field was a mere swamp of tenacious mud. " The field was 
soft and cut up by the horses ; it was almost impossible to 
draw one's feet out of the ground, so soft was it. Besides 
this," goes on the historian, Lefebvre, " the French were so 
loaded with harness that they could not go forward. In the 
first place, they were burdened with steel coats of mail long 
enough to reach below the knees, and very heavy, and 
below this mail they had harness on their legs, and above 
it harness of white, and helmets atop of all. Then they 
were so crowded together that none could lift their arms 
to strike the enemy, save those who were in the front rank." 
Another historian on the English side tells us that the 
French were arrayed thirty-two men deep, while the Eng- 
lish stood but four men deep. This enormous depth 
of the French colun!n was useless, for almost all who com- 
posed it were knights and horsemen, and the bulk of them 
were so far from being able to act that they never even saw 
what was going on in the front ; while among the English 
every man had his share in the action. Of the fifty thou- 
sand Frenchmen in fact but two or three thousand had the 
power actively to engage with the eleven thousand English- 
men ; or at least might have had the power, had their horses 
freed themselves from the mire. 



lo PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

To rouse these sluggish masses to action the Enghsh 
archers discharged thousands of arrows right at their faces. 
The iron-clad horsemen bowed their heads, or the arrows 
would have pierced the vizors of their helmets. Then, on 
either flank of the army, from Tramecourt and from Agin- 
court, two French squadrons, by dint of hard spurring, got 
clumsily into motion, and came on headed by two famous 
men at arms, Messire Cliquet de Brabant and Messire 
Guillaume de Sausure. But the first squadron, which came 
from Tramecourt, was suddenly riddled by the fire from a 
body of archers hidden in the wood on its flank; and 
neither the one squadron nor the other ever reached the 
English line. In fact, of twelve hundred men who charged 
but a hundred and twenty managed to dash themselves 
against the stakes on the English front. The bulk had 
fallen on the road, men and horses, as they floundered in 
the thick mud. And well had it been had all fallen, for 
those whose horses were wounded could no longer govern 
the maddened beasts, and they turned back to rush on the 
French ranks. Far from being able to open to let them 
pass, the advance-guard was, as has been seen, so thickly 
massed together that not a man could move ; and one may 
conceive the fearful confusion that fell on the serried mass, 
the frightened horses plunging and backing through it, fling- 
ing down their riders, or crushing them into a mass of 
clashing iron. It was in the midst of this turmoil that the 
Englishmen fell on them. Quitting their front of stakes, 
throwing down bow and arrow, they came on at their ease, 
hatchet and axe, sword or loaded club in hand, to hew at 
the vast confused heap of men and horses. When, in all 
good time, they had finally made a clearance of the advance- 
guard, they advanced, with King Henry at their head, on 
the second line of battle behind it. It was perhaps at this 
moment that eighteen French gentlemen fell upon the 



AGINCOURT, II 

English king. They had vowed, it is said, to die or to dash 
his crown fronn his head ; one of them tore from it a fleur- 
de-lys ; but all perished on the spot. It was now at any 
rate that the Duke of Brabant hurried up to the fight. He 
came late enough; but he was still in good time to die. 
The brave prince had left his men behind him ; he had not 
even put on his coat of arms ; in its stead he took his 
banner, made a hole in it, passed his head through the hole, 
and threw himself upon the English, who slew him in an 
instant. Only the rear-guard now remained, and this soon 
melted away. A crowd of French knights, dismounted, but 
lifted from the ground by their serving men, had withdrawn 
from the battle, and given themselves up to the English. 
At this moment word was brought to King Henry that a 
body of Frenchmen were pillaging his baggage, while he 
saw in the French rear-guard some Bretons or Gascons, who 
seemed about to turn back upon him. Fear seized him for 
a moment, especially when he saw his followers embarrassed 
with so great a number of captives ; and on the instant he 
gave orders that every man should kill his prisoner. Not a 
man obeyed. These soldiers without hose or shoes saw in 
their hands thq greatest lords of France, and thought their 
fortunes already made. They were ordered infacttoiuin 
themselves. Then the King told off two hundred men to 
serve as butchers. It was an awful sight, says the historian, 
to see these poor disarmed folk, to whom quarter had just 
been given, and who now in cold blood were killed, be- 
headed, cut in pieces ! . . . . After all, the alarm was a 
false one. It was but some pillagers of the neighbourhood, 
people of Agincourt, who in spite of their master, the Duke 
of Burgundy, had profited by the occasion. He punished 
them severely, although they had drawn from the spoil a rich 
sword for his son. 



12 i'KOSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

III. 

JOAN OF ARC. 

GREEN. 

[The victory of Agincourt led Henry to a series of cam- 
paigns which finally laid all northern France at his feet. 
He was pushing to the conquest of the south when his 
sudden death left the crowns of France and England to 
a child, Henry the Sixth ; and the factions which disputed 
for power in his name long hindered his brother, the Duke 
of Bedford, from completing his work. Meanwhile France 
south of the Loire held loyally to Charles the Seventh, who 
was not crowned as King but known as the Dauphin ; 
but Charles showed as yet little power or activity ; and 
when Bedford at last sent a weak force to besiege Orleans, 
the key of southern France, he did little for its help. 
Help came, however, from a peasant-maiden, Jeanne 
Dare, or Joan of Arc] 

Jeanne Darc was the child of a labourer of Domremy, 
a little village in the neighbourhood of Vaucouleurs on the 
borders of Lorraine and Champagne. Just without the 
cottage where she was born began the great woods of the 
Vosges, where the children of Domremy drank in poetry 
and legend from fairy ring and haunted well, hung their 
flower garlands on the sacred trees, and sang songs to the 
" good people " ^ who might not drink of the fountain be- 
cause of their sins. Jeanne loved the forest ; its birds and 
beasts came lovingly to her at her childish call. But at 
home men saw nothing in her but '' a good girl, simple and 
pleasant in her ways," spinning and sewing by her mother's 
side while the other girls went to the fields ; tender to the 
^ The Fairies. 



JOAN OF ARC. 13 

poor and sick, fond of church, and listening to the church- 
bell with a dreamy passion of delight which never left her. 
This quiet life was broken by the storm of war as it at last 
came home to Domremy. As the outcasts and wounded 
passed by the little village the young peasant girl gave them 
her bed and nursed them in their sickness. Her whole 
nature summed itself up in one absorbing passion : she 
' had pity,' to use the phrase for ever on her lip, ' on 
the fair realm of France.' As her passion grew she re- 
called old prophecies that a maid from the Lorraine border 
should save the land ; she saw visions ; St. Michael appeared 
to her in a flood of blinding light, and bade her go to the 
help of the King and restore to him his realm. " Messire,'' 
answered the girl, " I am but a poor maiden ; I know not 
how to ride to the wars, or to lead men-at-arms." The 
archangel returned to give her courage, and to tell her of " the 
pity " that there was in heaven for the fair realm of France. 
The girl wept, and longed that the angels who appeared 
to her would carry her away, but her mission was clear. 
It was in vain that her father when he heard of her purpose 
swore to drown her ere she should go to the field with 
men-at-arms. It was in vain that the priest, the wise 
people of the village, the captain of Vaucouleurs, doubted, 
and refused to aid her. " I must go to the King," persisted 
the peasant girl, " even if I wear my limbs to the very knees." 
" I had far rather rest and spin by my mother's side," she 
pleaded with a touching pathos, " for this is no work of my 
choosing, but I must go and do it, for my Lord wills it." 
" And who," they asked, " is your Lord ? " " He is God." 
Words such as these touched the rough captain at last : he 
took Jeanne by the hand and swore to lead her to the King. 
She reached Chinon^ in the opening of March, biit here too 

^ A castle south of the Loire, where Charles the Sevejith held 
his Court. 

8* 



14 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

she found hesitation and doubt. The theologians proved 
from their books that they ought not to beUeve her. " There 
is more in God's book than in yours," Jeanne answered 
simply. At last Charles himself received her in the midst 
of a throng of nobles and soldiers. "Gentle Dauphin," 
§aid the girl, " my name is Jeanne the Maid. The Heavenly 
King sends me to tell you that you shall be anointed and 
crowned in the town of Rheims,^ and you shall be lieutenant 
of the Heavenly King who is the King of France." 

Orleans had already been driven by famine to offers of 
surrender when Jeanne appeared in the French court, and 
a force was gathering under the Count of Dunois at Blois 
for a final efifort at its relief. It was at the head of this force 
that Jeanne placed herself The girl was in her eighteenth 
year, tall, finely formed, with all the vigour and activity of 
her peasant rearing, able to stay from dawn to nightfall on 
horseback without meat or drink. As she mounted her 
charger, clad in white armour from head to foot, with the 
great white banner studded with fleur-de-lys waving over 
her head, she seemed " a thing wholly divine, whether to 
see or hear." The ten thousand men-at-arms who followed 
her from Blois, rough plunderers whose only prayer was 
that of La Hire,* " Sire Dieu, I pray you to do for La Hire 
what La Hire would do for you, were you captain- at-arms 
and he God," left off their oaths and foul living at her 
word and gathered round the altars on their march. Her 
shrewd peasant humour helped her to manage the wild 
soldiery, and her followers laughed over their camp-fires at 
an old warrior who had been so puzzled by her prohibition 
of oaths that she suffered him still to swear by his baton. 
For in the midst of her enthusiasm her good sense never 

•'' 2 he crowning-place of the Fi-ench kings y which was now in 
the hands of the foes of Charles, so that he could not be crowned 
there. "* A noted captain of the time. 



JOAN OF ARC. 15 

left her. The people crowded round her as she rode along, 
praying her to work miracles, and bringing crosses and 
chaplets to be blest by her touch. " Touch them your- 
self," she said to an old Dame xMargaret ; " your touch will 
be just as good as mine." 

But her faith in her mission remained as firm as ever. 
"The Maid prays and requires you," she wrote to Bed- 
ford, " to work no more distraction in France but to come 
in her company to rescue the Holy Sepulchre from the 
Turk." " I bring you," she told Dunois, when he sallied 
out of Orleans to meet her after her two days' march 
from Blois, " I bring you the best aid ever sent to any one, 
the aid of the King of Heaven." The besiegers looked 
on overawed as she entered Orleans and, riding round 
the walls, bade the people shake off their fear of the 
forts which surrounded them. Her enthusiasm drove the 
hesitating generals to engage the handful of besiegers, and 
the enormous disproportion of forces at once made itself 
felt. Fort after fort was taken till only the strongest re- 
mained, and then the council of war resolved to adjourn the 
attack. "You have taken your counsel," rephed Jeanne, 
"and I take mine." Placing herself at the head of the 
men-at-arms, she ordered the gates to be thrown open, and 
led them against the fort. Few as they were, the English 
fought desperately, and the Maid, who had fallen wounded 
while endeavouring to scale its walls, was borne into a vine- 
yard, while Dunois sounded the retreat. " Wait a while !" 
the girl imperiously pleaded, " eat and drink ! so soon as 
my standard touches the wall you shall enter the fort." It 
touched, and the assailants burst in. On the next day the 
siege was abandoned, and on the eighth of May the force 
which had conducted it withdrew in good order to the 
north. 

In the midst of her triumph Jeanne still remained the 



i6 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

pure, tender-hearted peasant girl of the Vosges. Her fiist 
visit as she entered Orleans was to the great church, and 
there, as she knelt at mass, she wept in such a passion of 
devotion that '' all the people wept with her." Her tears 
burst forth afresh at her first sight of bloodshed and of the 
corpses strewn over the battle-field. She grew frightened 
at her first wound, and only threw off the touch of womanly 
fear when she heard the signal for retreat. Yet more 
womanly was the purity v/ith which she passed through the 
brutal warriors of a mediaeval camp. It was her care for 
her honour that led her to clothe herself in a soldier's 
dress. She wept hot tears when told of the foul taunts of 
the English, and called passionately on God to witness her 
chastity. " Yield thee, yield thee, Glasdale," she cried to 
the English warrior whose insults had been foulest as he 
fell wounded at her feet, " you called me harlot ! I have 
great pity on your soul.'' But all thought of herself was 
lost in the thought of her mission. It was in vain that the 
French generals strove to remain on the Loire. Jeanne was 
resolute to complete her task, and while the English re- 
mained panic-stricken around Paris she brought Charles to 
march upon Rheims, the old crowning-place of the Kings 
of France. Troyes and Chalons submitted as she reached 
them, Rheims drove out the EngHsh garrison and threw 
open her gates to the King. 



IV. 

BATTLE OF TEWKESBURY. 

KIRK. 

[Joan fell at last into the hands of her enemies and was 
burned as a witch. But the impulse she had given roused 
France ; and the English were driven at last not only from 



BATTLE OF TEWKESBURY. 17 

their recent conquests but from their own possession of 
Aquitaine. Of all they had held in France Calais only 
remained to them. The shame of these defeats height- 
ened the disorder in England itself, which sprang from 
the imbecility of Henry the Sixth, and the strife of fac- 
tions about his throne. At last the Duke of York, who 
descended from an elder brother of John of Gaunt, dis- 
puted Henry's right to the crown, and claimed to be king. 
With this claim began the Wars of the Roses, as they 
were called, the Red Rose being the badge of Lancaster, 
the White Rose of York. The. Duke, after some suc- 
cesses, was defeated and slain ; but his son, aided by the 
Earl of Warwick, the mightiest of the English nobles, 
drove Henry from the throne and himself mounted it as 
Edward the Fourth. Quarrels however sprang up between 
Edward and Warwick ; and at last Warwick was driven 
into exile. He returned to England, and Edward had 
himself to fly over sea, while Henry the Sixth was once 
more set on the throne ; but a fresh landing of Edward 
in Yorkshire was followed by the defeat and death of 
Warwick, and by a new deposition of Henry. At the 
moment of Warwick's overthrow, Henry's wife, Margaret 
of Anjou, landed on the southern coast with her son and 
a body of French troops ; and Edward at once marched 
against her. Margaret's aim was to gather an army, and 
to do this she pushed through the western counties up 
the Severn, while Edward hurried in pursuit.] 

On the morning of Thursday, the second of May,^ the 
Yorkists ^ were at Malmesbury, the Lancastrians ^ at Bristol. 
A line drawn between these two places would represent the 
southern base of a triangle of which the northern apex 
might be found either at Gloucester, at Tewkesbury, or 
at W-orcester, according as the lines of march represented 
by the sides were more or less convergent. But since the 
more westerly line was somewhat longer than the others, it 
was necessary for the Lancastrians to gain at least a day's 

^1471. 2 The army of Edward the Fourth. ^ The 

army of Margaret. 

PART II. 



l8 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Start in advance. To effect this object they again made a 
feint of offering battle, sending a small party to Sodbury, 
midway between Bristol and Malmesbury, to fix upon con- 
venient ground for receiving the attack. Again Edward 
allowed himself to be momentarily deceived. He marched 
to Sodbury on the evening of the same day, and having 
selected his position, remained there during the night. 
Early in the morning, thanks to the vigilance of his spies, 
he discovered his error. The Lancastrians having travelled 
all night up the bank of the Severn, were now at Berkeley, 
far on the road to Gloucester. To intercept them with his 
army before they should reach this latter point was no 
longer possible; and if they gained possession of the town,^ 
which was strongly fortified, they would be sheltered from 
an immediate attack, and would hold an excellent position for 
awaiting the expected succours from Wales and other quarters. 
There was still time however for a well-mounted party to 
carry notice of the enemy's approach to Richard Beau- 
champ, the newly appointed governor of Gloucester castle ; 
and having despatched this warning the King set out with 
his whole army, by the nearest route to Tewkesbury, 
whither the Lancastrians, if they failed to enter Gloucester, 
would necessarily proceed, and where he trusted to come 
up with them. 

Thus the two hostile armies were now marching in the 
same direction, on concentric lines, and the trial was one 
of endurance and of speed. The day was " right an hot " 
one for the season ; on neither route were tliere any villages ; 
and the soldiers of Edward travelled more than thirty miles 
without any other refreshment for themselves or their horses 
than was afforded by the waters of a single brook, " where 
was full little relief, it was so soon troubled with the 
carriages that had passed it." They had, however, two 
■* Of Gloucester. 



BATTLE OF TEWKESBURY. iq 

advantages over the enemy. A much larger proportion of 
their force consisted of cavalry, and their course lay across 
the Cotswold, an open and level, though elevated tract of 
country, while that of the Lancastrians led through lanes 
and woods, which offered many obstructions to their pro- 
gress. They lost some time moreover in a vain attempt 
to enter Gloucester, where, though the inhabitants were 
friendly to them, the governor was successful in preventing 
their admission. 

During the latter part of the day the distance between 
them and their pursuers was rapidly diminished, and the 
enemy's scouts began to swarm along their flank. Neverthe- 
less, they reached Tewkesbury somewhat earlier in the 
evening than Edward arrived at Cheltenham, then a mere 
village five miles to the south-east. But all hope of making 
good their escape was now past. They had been on the 
road the whole of the preceding night, had marched since 
the morning a distance of thirty-six miles, and were in- 
capable of any further advance till thoroughly refreshed by 
food and sleep. Here, therefore, they must stand at bay ; 
and their leaders made choice of a position well adapted to 
their purpose on the hills sloping southward from the town. 
The ancient Saxon abbey, with its magnificent Norman 
church, was " at their backs ; afore them, and upon every 
hand of them, foul lanes and deep dikes, and many hedges, 
with hills and valleys, a right evil place to approach as 
could well have been devised." 

Being apprised of the enemy's intention to receive battle, 
Edward, after a short delay at Cheltenham, led his army 
two miles further towards Tewkesbury, and halted for the 
night. At break of day his troops were again under arms. 
He gave the command of the vanguard to his brother 
Richard,^ Duke of Gloucester, then only nineteen years of 
^ Afterwards Richard the Third. 



20 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

age ; the rear-guard was intrusted to Lord Hastings ; while 
the rest of the forces were led by the king in person, with 
the exception of a small detachment sent forward to the 
edge of a wood, in case an ambush had been set for an 
assault upon his flank. Trumpets were blown, banners 
unfurled, and the aid and protection of the Almighty, the 
Virgin Mother, the blessed martyr Saint George, and all the 
Saints, solemnly invoked. The cannon then opened their 
fire ; and the whole army advanced to the attack, the lines 
of bowmen in front sending forth a continual flight of 
arrows. The Lancastrians, had they been content to avail 
themselves of the advantages of their position, waiting till 
their assailants had crossed the fences and ditches and begun 
to gather on the rising ground, might then by a vigorous 
repulse have thrown them into confusion, where confusion 
must have ended in rout. But they were now to experience 
the usual ill-effects of a divided command. It was easy for 
the different chiefs to stimulate by their exhortations and 
example the courage of their men ; but there was no one 
to direct or restrain the ardour of the chiefs. The Prince 
of Wales ^ was too young to exercise any real authority. 
Yet his presence, and that of his mother,'^ who had ridden 
through the ranks to animate the spirits of the troops, and 
who did not retire from the field till the battle had begun, 
was perhaps the reason for not investing any subject leader 
with the sole command. 

However this may have been, the Duke of Somerset, 
whose force was posted in the front, led away either by his 
own impatient valour or by the restlessness of his men 
under the fire of the artillery and the archers, determined 
to leave his vantage-ground and come at once to an en- 
counter with the enemy. He is even said to have cloven 
with his battle-axe the skull of one of his associates, Lord 

' The son of Henry the Sixth. ^ Margaret of Anjou. 



CAXTON. 21 

Wenlock, who opposed this rash design. Descending by a 
slanting course through " certain paths and ways " which 
he had before reconnoitred, he entered an enclosed field, 
and falling suddenly on one end of the enemy's lines 
gained a slight advantage. But the Yorkists speedily rallied. 
Fresh bodies came pouring to their aid. The assailants 
were pushed back up the hill, and were now, in their turn, 
taken in flank by the party which, as already mentioned, 
had been detached by Edward to guard against a surprise. 
They were soon in complete disorder. The trees and 
bushes, the fences, the obscure paths, which had favoured 
the suddenness of their advance, became obstacles to their 
retreat. They threw away their arms and fled in different 
directions. But without spending time in the pursuit, 
the king, uniting all his forces in a solid mass, charged, 
with resistless vigour, the main body of the Lancastrians, 
whose already wavering lines were at once broken by the 
shock. " Such as abode handstrokes were slain incon- 
tinent." But more were slaughtered in the chase, " flying 
towards the town, to the abbey, to the church;" while 
not a few, hotly pursued, were drowned in a mill-stream 
that flowed through a neighbouring meadow, which has 
retained to this day the name of the "Bloody Field." 

V. 

CAXTON. 

GREEN. 

[With the battle of Tewkesbury the cause of the House of 
Lancaster was finally lost. Margaret was taken prisoner ] 
her son w^as slain ; Henry the Sixth himself died soon 
after in the Tower. From this moment Edward's reign 
was a peaceful one. He was an able ruler ; but the chief 
glory of his reign springs from the introduction during it 
into England of the art of printing by William Caxton.] 



22 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

It was probably at the press of Colard Mansion, in a 
little room over the porch of St. Donat's at Bruges/ that 
William Caxton learned the art which he was the first to 
introduce into England. A Kentish boy by birth, but 
apprenticed to a London mercer, Caxton had already spent 
thirty years of his manhood in Flanders as Governor of the 
English gild of Merchant Adventurers there when we find 
him engaged as copyist in the service of Edward's sister, 
Duchess Margaret of Burgundy.^ But the tedious process 
of copying was soon thrown aside for the new art which 
Colard Mansion had introduced into Bruges. " For as 
much as in the writing of the same," Caxton tells us in the 
preface to his first priijted work, the Tales of Troy, '•' my 
pen is worn, my hand is weary and not steadfast, mine eyes 
dimmed with over much looking on the white paper, and 
my courage not so prone and ready to labour as it hath 
been, and that age creepeth on me daily and feebleth all the 
body, and also because I have promised to divers gentlemen 
and to my friends to address to them as hastily as I might 
the said book, therefore I have practised and learned at 
my great charge and dispense to ordain this said book in 
print after the manner and form as ye may see,' and is not 
written with pen and ink as other books be,^ to the end that 
every man may have them at once, for all the books of this 
story here emprynted as ye see were begun in one day and 
also finished in one day." 

The printing-press was the precious freight he brought 
back to England in 1476, after an absence of five-and-thirty 
years. Through the next fifteen, at an age when other men 
look for ease and retirement, we see him plunging with 

^ /;/ Flanders, , 2 2"/^^ ^^^^ gf Duke Charles the Bold. 

3 1 ill now all books had been written by hand; hence they were 
called inannscripts. This process was tedious and costly ; and 
so books were scarce attd dear. 



CAXTON. 23 

characteristic energy into his new occupation. His " red 
pale," or heraldic shield, marked with a red bar dov/n the 
middle, invited buyers to the press he established in the 
Almonry at Westminster, a little enclosure containing a 
chapel and almshouses near the west front of the church, 
where the alms of the abbey were distributed to the poor. 
" If it please any man, spiritual or temporal," runs his ad- 
vertisement, " to buy any pyes^ -of two or three commemora- 
tions of Salisbury all emprynted after the form of the present 
letter, which be well and truly correct, let him come to 
AVestminster into the Almonry at the red pale, and he shall 
have tliem good chepe." Caxton was a practical man of 
business, as this advertisement shows, no riv^al of the Vene- 
tian Aldi, or of the classical printers of Rome, but resolved 
to get a living from his trade, supplying priests with service 
books and preachers with sermons, furnishing the clerk with 
his " Golden Legend " and knight and baron with "joyous 
and pleasant histories of chivalry." 

But while careful to win his daily bread, he found time to 
do much for what of higher literature lay fairly to hand. He 
printed all the English poetry of any moment which was then 
in existence. His reverence for that " worshipful man, Geof- 
frey Chaucer," who "ought to be eternally remembered," 
is shown not merely by his edition of the " Canterbury 
Tales," but by his reprint of them when a purer text of 
the poem offered itself. The poems of Lydgate and Gower 
were added to those of Chaucer. The Chronicle of Brut 
and Higden's " Polychronicon *' were the only available 
works of an historical character then existing in the English 
tongue, and Caxton not only printed them but himself 
continued the latter up to his own time. A translation of 
BoethiuSj a version of the Eneid from the French, and a 

* Books ill small type. 



24 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

tract or two of Cicero, were the stray first-fruits of the 
classical press in England. 

Busy as was Caxton's printing-press, he was even busier 
as a translator than as a printer. More than four thousand 
of his printed pages are from works of his own rendering. 
The need of these translations shows the popular drift of 
literature at the time ; but keen as the demand seems to 
have been, there is nothing mechanical in the temper with 
which Caxton prepared to meet it. A natural, simple- 
hearted taste and enthusiasm, especially for the style and 
forms of language, breaks out in his curious prefaces. 
" Having no work in hand," he says in the preface to his 
Eneid, " I sitting in my study where as lay many divers 
pamphlets and books, happened that to my hand came a 
little book in French, which late was translated out of 
Latin by some noble clerk of France — which book is 
named Eneydos, and made in Latin by that noble poet 
and great clerk Vergyl — in which book I had great pleasure 
by reason of the fair and honest termes and wordes in 
French which I never saw to-fore-like,^ none so pleasant nor 
so well ordered, which book as me seemed should be much 
requisite for noble men to see, as well for the eloquence as 
for the histories ; and when I had advised me to this said 
book I deliberated and concluded to translate it into English, 
and forthwith took a pen and ink and wrote a leaf or twain." 

But the work of translation involved a choice of English 
which made Caxton's work important in the history of our 
language. He stood between two schools of translation, 
that of French affectation and English pedantry. It was a 
moment when the character of our literary tongue was being 
settled, and it is curious to see in his own words the struggle 
over it which was going on in Caxton's time. " Some honest 
and great clerks have been with me and desired me to write 
5 Before. 



CAXTON. 25 

the most curious terms that I could find ; " on the other hand, 
" some gentlemen of late blamed me, saying that in my trans- 
lations I had over many curious terms which could not be 
understood of common people, and desired me to use old 
and homely terms in my translations." "Fain would I 
please every man," comments the good-humoured printer, 
but his sturdy sense saved him alike from the tempta- 
tions of the court and the schools. His own taste pointed 
to English, but " to the common terms that be daily 
used " rather than to the English of his antiquarian 
advisers. "I took an old book and read therein, and 
certainly the English was so rude and broad I could not well 
understand it," while the Old-English charters which the 
Abbot of Westminster lent as models from the archives of 
his house seemed " more like to Dutch ^ than to English." 

To adopt current phraseology however was by no means 
easy at a time when even the speech of common talk was 
in a state of rapid flux. " Our language now used varieth 
far from that which was used and spoken when I was born." 
Not only so, but the tongue of each shire was still peculiar 
to itself and hardly intelligible to men of another county. 
" Common English that is spoken in one shire varieth from 
another so much, that in my days happened that certain 
merchants were in a ship in Thames for to have sailed over 
the sea into Zealand, and for lack of wind they tarried 
at Foreland ^ and went on land for to refresh them. And 
one of them, named Sheffield, a mercer, came into a house 
and asked for meat, and especially he asked them after eggs. 
And the good wife answered that she could speak no 
French. And the merchant was angry, for he also could 
speak no French, but would have eggs, but she understood 
him not. And then at last another said he would have 
eyren, then the good wife said she understood him well. 
^ i.e. German. ' On the coast of Kent. 



26 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Lo ! what should a man in these days now write," adds 
the puzzled printer, "eggs or eyren ? certainly it is hard 
to please every man by cause of diversity and change of 
language." His own mother-tongue too was that of " Kent 
in the Weald, where I doubt not is spoken as broad and 
rude English as in any place in England ; " and coupling 
this with his long absence in Flanders we can hardly 
wonder at the confession he makes over his first transla- 
tion, that " when all these things came to fore me, after 
that I had made and v/ritten a five or six quires, I fell in 
despair of this work, and purposed never to have continued 
therein, and the quires laid apart, and in two years after 
laboured no more in this work." 



BATTLE OF BOSWORTH. 
YONGE. 

[Caxton's work shows how fast England was progressing m 
knowledge amidst all the troubles of the time. But the 
Wars of the Roses were still not at an end. At Edward 
the Fourth's death his brother murdered Edward's sons 
and seized the throne as Richard the Third. He was at first 
popular, but his cruelty and faithlessness soon estranged 
men from him ; and Henry Tudor, who had inherited 
the claims of the House of Lancaster, landed in Wales, to 
dispute the crown, and boldly marched on London. 
Richard, suspicious of the treachery which was to ruin him, 
marched to intercept Henry, and moved from Leicester 
on Bosworth Field where he encountered his rival.] 

Richard had ridden out of Leicester in the same state 
and splendour in which he had entered it, wearing his 
crown on the helmet of a rich suit of steel armour that 



BATTLE OF BOSWORTH. l*j 

he had first worn at Tewkesbury ; and passing on to Mir- 
wall Abbey, encamped upon a hill called Anbeam, over- 
looking a broad extent of open ground, called Redmoor, 
not far from the town of Market-Bosworth. It was about 
two miles long and one mile broad, intersected by a thick 
wood, and bounded on the south by a little stream, on the 
north by rising ground, and by a swamp called Amyon Lays. 
Richard was to the west, Henry to the east. Restless and 
distrustful, Richard rose at midnight, wandered alone through 
his outposts, found a sentinel slumbering, and stabbed him to 
the heart as he lay, then returned to endeavour to recruit 
himself by sleep for the next day ; but he was awake again, 
long before the chaplains were ready to say Mass, or the 
attendants to bring breakfast ; and he told his servants of 
the sentry's fate, grimly saying, " I found him asleep, and 
have left him as I found him." No thought of mercy was 
in the mind of the man bold in civil war, whose early recol- 
lections were of Wakefield and Towton, and whose maiden 
sword had been fleshed at Barnet.^ He only said that, go the 
battle as it might, England would suffer ; " from Lancaster 
to Shrewsbury he would leave none alive, knight or squire ; 
and from Holyhead to St. David's, where were castles and 
towers should all be parks and fields. All should repent 
that ever they rose against their king : and if Richmond 
triumphed, the Lancastrians would of course take a bloody 
vengeance/' 

One strange episode is said to have occupied Richard on 
that morning of doom. He had acknowledged two illegiti- 
mate children, John and Katharine, whom he had brought 
up with the young Prince of Wales ; he had knighted the one 
and given the other in marriage to the Earl of Huntingdon : 

1 His father had been slain iji the Battle of Wakefield; his 
brother Edward set on the throne in the bloody fight of Towton; 
Warwick overthrown at Barnet. 



28 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

but he had yet another, named Richard. This young boy 
was brought to the royal tent at that moment, and heard 
for the first time that the pale, haggard, agitated man, small, 
slight, and deformed, yet whose dark eyes flashed with in- 
domitable fierceness and pride as he donned the helmet 
with its regal crown, was his father ! He was too young for 
the battle, and Richard bade him remain on the hill, and 
watch, so as to escape if he saw the white boar and the 
white rose ^ give way. 

Anxious tidings kept on coming in. The duke of Nor- 
folk brought in a paper he had found pinned to his tent in 
the morning, bearing the lines — 

" Jockey of Norfolk, be not too bold, 
For Dickon thy master is bought and sold ; 

and when, thus rendered even more anxious, Richard sent 
to command the personal attendance of Lord Stanley^ and 
his brother William, they flatly refused to come. There- 
upon he gave instant orders to strike off young Stanley's 
head f but the opposite army already showed signs of move- 
ment, and the execution was deferred. 

Richard then arrayed his men. His army seems to have 
numbered about 16,000, and he decided on extending the 
vanguard to the utmost, so as if possible to outflank and 
enwrap the enemy. In their centre he placed a dense body 
of archers, and amongst them seven score guns called sar- 
gents, chained and locked in a row, behind a trench, with 
the men who knew how to use harquebuses and morris-pikes 

2 The white boar was Richard's ow7t badge; the white rose the 
badge of the House of York. ^ Both Richa7'd afid Henry 

hoped for Lord Staftlef s aid. He had married Richmond'' s 
mother; but he had been loaded with h07wurs by Richard. His 
choice was in the end to turn the battle, as he led a large force to 
the field. ^ Lord Stafilefs son, Lord Strange, was kept by 

Richard as a hostage for hisfathet^s loyalty. 



BATTLE OF BOSWORTH. 29 

also stationed round them, all guarded by a trench. This 
was under the command of Norfolk ; the second line under 
that of Northumberland ; ^ and Richard himself took charge 
of a body of troops formed into a dense square, with wings of 
horsemen. Henry, meantime, was almost as uneasy about 
the Stanleys as Richard himself, for neither did they obey 
his summons ; and without their 8,000, his force was no more 
than 5,000. He formed this little troop into three lines, 
spreading them as far as possible, giving the centre to the 
experienced Earl of Oxford, the right wing to Sir Gilbert 
Talbot, the left to Sir John Savage. He rode through the 
army, giving them comfortable words — entirely armed, all 
save his helmet ', and the long golden hair, that witnessed 
to his Plantagenet ancestry, flowing down to his shoulders. 
The soldiers closed their helmets and shook their bills ; the 
archers strung their bows and " frushed " their arrows. Each 
side stood ready for the last of the hundred battles of the 
Plantagenets. 

Richmond moved first, so as to bring the right flank of 
his army alongside of the swamp, and prevent Richard's 
long line from closing upon that side, and besides so as to 
bring the August sun on the backs instead of the faces of 
his men. They seem to have waited for a charge from the 
enemy ; but as none was made, Oxford resolved to make 
a sudden and furious dash at the centre, where Norfolk was 
in command. The fighting was hot and vehement, and the 
small band of the Lancastrians must have been beaten off, 
but that the Earl of Northumberland, in the second line,- 
never stirred to the aid of Norfolk. The Duke went down, 
his son the Earl of Surrey surrendered ; and the Mowbray 
banner was down. 

Richard, maddened at the sight, and seeing half his army 

^ The Earl of Northtmiberla^id^ like Lord Stanley, had 
secretly promised aid to Henry. 

9 



30 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

standing inactive, determined to make a desperate charge 
down the hill upon Henry himself; but fevered with the 
thirst of the agitation of this desperate crisis, he flung him- 
self down and took a long draught from a spring that still 
goes by the name of Dick's Well. Then he put his lance 
in the rest, and together with his most attached adherents 
— Lovell, Catesby, Ratcliffe, Brackenbury, Lord Ferrers, 
and Sir Gervoise Clifton, and their nearest followers, putting 
their lances in rest, rode headlong upon Richmond, as indeed 
the last hope now lay in the destruction of the individual 
rival. Small and slender as Richard was, he did wonders : 
he drove his lance through the armpit of Sir William Brandon, 
the standard bearer ; and as Sir John Cheyney, a man of 
gigantic frame, threw himself in front of Henry, he unhorsed 
him at the first shock. But others had closed in between the 
two rivals ; and at that moment a knight — Catesby, as it is 
said — pointed out to the King that Sir William Stanley, 
hitherto inactive, was moving with his 3,000 men to crush 
him completely, and tendering to him a swift and fresh horse, 
advised him to save himself by flight, saying, '' I hold it time 
for ye to fly. Yonder Stanley, his dints be so sore, against 
them no man may stand. Here is thy horse ; another day 
ye may worship again." " Never ! " cried Richard. *' Not 
one foot will I fly so long as breatli bides within my breast. 
Here will I end all my battles or my life. I will die King 
of England." 

Down came cautious Stanley, and the fray thickened. 
The charge had been but just in time to save Henry, but 
when it came it was overpowering. " Treason ! treason ! 
treason ! " cried Richard at every blow ; but his followers 
fell around him, his standard-bearer clinging to his standard 
and waving it even till his legs were cut from under him, 
and then he still grasped and waved it till his last gasp. 
Sir Gervoise Clifton and Sir John Byron, near neighbourSj 



* 



BATTLE OF BOS WORTH. 31 

had, ere parting to take opposite sides, agreed that which- 
ever was on the winning party should protect the family and 
estates of the other. As Clifton fell, Byron ran to support 
him on his shield ; but Clifton could only murmur, " All is 
over — remember your pledge;" and Byron did faithfully 
remember it. Sir Robert Brackenbury met a knight named 
Hungerford, who had gone over to the Tudor on the march, 
and defied him as a deserting traitor. " I will not answer in 
words," said Hungerford, aiming a blow at his head, which he 
caught on his shield, and shivered it to atoms. " No ad- 
vantage will I take," cried Hungerford, throwing away his 
shield ; but even then he sorely wounded Brackenbury, who 
fell ; and another knight cried, " Spare his life, brave Hun- 
gerford, he has been our friend, and so may be again ; " but 
it was too late, for Brackenbury was already expiring. 

Richard, after fighting like a lion, and hewing down what- 
ever came within the sweep of his sword, was falling under 
the weight of numbers, and loud shouts proclaimed his fall. 
His party turned and fled, and were pursued closely for 
about fifty minutes, during which towards a thousand men 
were slain, and tradition declares that the mounds along 
the track are their graves. Drayton sings — 



'* O Redmore Heath ! then it seemed thy name was not m vain, 
When with a thousand's blood the earth was coloured red." 



This was just as the old English name of Senlac became in 
Norman mouths Sangue lac after Hastings. At last a steep 
rising ground, after about two miles, slackened the pursuit, 
for Henry had no desire to fulfil Richard's bloody prophecy. 
His uncle, Jasper Earl of Pembroke, and Aubrey de Vere, 
Earl of Oxford, victorious at last after their many piteous 
defeats, and Lord Stanley, halted with him; and Sir 
Reginald Bray came up with the crown that Richard had 



32 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

SO proudly worn, and which he had found hanging on a haw- 
thorn bush, dinted and battered ; but such as it was the 
Lord Stanley set it on Henry's head, and shouts of "God 
save King Harry ! " rang throughout the field. Crown Hill 
became the name of the eminence, and Henry adopted as 
his badge the Crown in the May-bush. He knelt down and 
returned thanks for his victory. 



vn. 

THE FIELD OF CLOTH OF GOLD. 

YONGE. 

[With the accession of the House of Tudor the civil wars 
came to an end. The aim of Henry the Seventh was 
not only to give peace to the country, but to raise the 
power of the crown high above the barons who had 
set up and put down kings. With his reign the feudal 
character of England came to an end ; while the rare 
assemblage of Parliaments freed the monarchy from the 
restraints which the Houses had put upon it. His son, 
Henry the Eighth, succeeded to the power which his 
father had patiently built up at home ; and his stirring 
temper led him to seek for a corresponding influence 
abroad. Under the guidance of his minister, Cardinal 
Wolsey, he mixed in the great contest which France and 
the House of Austria were waging for supremacy over 
the Continent. Both powers sought his friendship ; and 
in one of their interviews for this purpose Henry and the 
French King, Francis the First, so vied in splendour, that 
the field where they met was known as the Field of 
Cloth of Gold.] 

The place of meeting was to be between Ardres and 
Guisnes, Avithin the Enghsh pale.^ Hundreds of skilful 
workmen were employed in erecting the pavilions that were 
^ The border round Calais. 



P^IELD OF CLOTH OF GOLD. 33 

to lodge the two courts ; barons and gentlemen flocked in 
from all i:)arts — many of whom, it was said, had spent a 
whole year's income in fitting themselves for the display ; 
and councillors and heralds rode backwards and forwards 
incessantly, arranging the precautions and the etiquettes of 
the meeting. The two kings might, so ruled the statesmen, 
meet in open field ; but neither might trust himself in the 
camp of the other unless on principles of exchange. They 
might mutually visit the Queens, but neither miglit be at 
home when his brother king visited him. Each must be a 
hostage for the other. 

Francois's chief tent before Ardres was a magnificent 
dome, sustained by one mighty mast, and covered without 
with cloth of gold, lined with blue velvet, with all the orbs 
of heaven worked on it in gold, and on the top, outside, a 
hollow golden figure of St. Michael. The cords were of 
blue silk twisted with gold of Cyprus ; but the chronicler 
of the French display is obliged to confess that the King 
of England's lodgings were trop plus belle? They were 
certainly more solid, for eleven hundred workmen, mostly 
from Holland and Flanders, had been employed on them 
for weeks, chiefly about the hangings, for the framework v.'as 
of English timber, and made at home. Bacchus presided 
over a fountain of wine in the court, with several subordinate 
fountains of red, white, and claret wines, and the motto, 
*' Faites bonne chere qui vouldra," ^ a politer one than that 
which labelled the savage man with a bow and arrows who 
stood before the door, " Cut adhcereo pi-ceest^' — He prevails 
to whom I adhere. The outside of the castle was canvas 
painted to resemble stone work, the inside hung with the 
richest arras, and all divided into halls, chambers, and 
galleries, like any palace at home, with a chapel of the 
utmost splendour. It had the great advantage of superior 
'^ Far more beautiful, ^ Let who will make good cheer. 



34 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Stability, for a high wind levelled Francois's blue dome with 
the dust, and forced him to take shelter in the old castle 
of Ardres. 

On the first day, Wolsey had a conference with Francois, 
Duprat with Henry, the upshot of which was that their 
children should be married. One hundred thousand crowns 
a year were to be paid to Henry, nominally with a view to 
this hypothetical marriage, but really to secure his neutrality;* 
and the affairs of Scotland were to be settled by the arbitra- 
tion of Louise of Savoy ^ and Cardinal Wolsey. 

This settled, each king got on horseback, himself and 
steed both wearing as much cloth of gold and silver as 
could possibly be put on them, and met in the valley of 
Ardres. They saluted and embraced on horseback, and 
then dismounting at the same moment, walked arm-in-arm 
into the tent prepared for them, where a splendid feast was 
spread, with two trees in the midst, the English hawthorn 
and French raspberry lovingly entwined. Lists had been 
prepared, and invitations to a tournament issued long before ; 
and on the nth of June, Queen Katharine and Queen 
Claude*^ sat side by side, with their feet on a foot-cloth broi- 
dered with seed-pearls, to admire the jousting, in which both 
their husbands took a part. Armour had come to such a 
state of cum.brous perfection by this time, that it was not 
very easy to be killed in a real battle (barring fire-arms), and 
tilting matches were very safe amusements. Six days w^ere 
given to tilting with the lance, two to fights with the broad- 
sword on horseback, two to fighting on foot at the barriers. 
On the last day there was some wrestling at the barriers, 
and Henry, who was fond of the sport, and never had tried 
it with an equal, put his hand on his good brother's collar 

'* In the struggle of Francis with Charles of Austria. 
^ The French King 's mother. ^ The Queens of England 

and France. 



FIELD OF CLOTH OF GOLD. 35 

and challenged him to try a fall. Both were in the prime of 
life, stately, well-made men ; but Frangois was the younger, 
lighter, and more agile, and Henry, to his amazement, found 
himself on his back. He rose and demanded another turn ; 
but the noblemen interfered, thinking it a game that might 
leave animosities. 

Frangois was heartily weary of the formaHties of their 
intercourse, and early one morning called a page and two 
gentlemen, mounted his horse and rode up to the English 
canvas castle, where he found Henry still in bed, and 
merrily offered himself to him as captive, to which Henry 
responded in the same tone, by leaping up and throwing a 
rich collar round his neck by way of chain. Frangois 
then undertook to help him to dress, warming his shirt, 
spreading out his hose, and trussing his points — namely, 
tyhig the innumerable little strings that connected the 
doublet with the hose or breeches, rendering it nearly im- 
possible to dress without assistance. After having had his 
frolic Francois rode home again, meeting a lecture on the 
way from the Sieur de Fleuranges, who took him to task 
thus : " Sire, I am glad to see you back ; but allow me to 
tell you, my master, that you were a fool for what you have 
done, and ill-luck betide those who advised you to it." 

" That was no one— the thought was my own," replied 
the King. 

And the King was altogether the more reasonable, for 
Englishmen had never been in the habit of murdering or 
imprisoning their guests, and never in his life did Henry 
VIII. show a taste for assassination. Yet when he beheld 
the arrogant manners and extraordinary display of the Con- 
stable of France, Charles de Bourbon, he could not help 
observing, mindful of what Warwick had been, " If I had 
such a subject as that^ his head should not stay long on 
his shoulders." • 



36 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

The next day, which was the last of this gorgeous fort- 
night — Midsummer Day — King Henry apparelled himself 
like Hercules. That is to say, he had a shirt of silver 
damask with the discourteous motto, *' En femes et infautites 
cy petit assurance^' ^ on his head a garland of green damask 
cut into vine and hawthorn leaves, in his hand a club 
covered with " green damask full of pricks ; " the Nemean 
lion's skull was of cloth of gold, "wrought and frizzed with 
flat gold of damask " for the mane, and buskins of gold. 
His sister Mary, in white and crimson satin, accompanied 
him ; also the nine worthies, nineteen ladies, and a good 
many more, mounted on horses trapped with yellow and 
white velvet. Thus they set out to visit Queen Claude at 
Guisnes, meeting halfway a fantastic chariot, containing King 
Francois and all his masquers, on their way to make a like 
call upon Queen Katharine. The two parties took no 
notice of each other, but passed on; but when returning 
after supper they met again, the Kings embraced, exchanged 
presents, and bade farewell, when verily the scene must 
have been stranger than any other ever enacted under the 
open sky — a true midsummer night's dream. 

" During this triumph," observed Hall, who was never 
more in his element, " so much people of Picardy and west 
Flanders drew to Guisnes to see the King of England 
and his honour, to whom victuals of the court were in 
plenty ; the conduit of the gate ran wine always,— there 
were vagabonds, ploughmen, labourers, waggoners, and 
beggars, that for drunkenness lay in routs and heaps. So 
great resort thither came, that both knights and ladies that 
were come to see the nobleness were fain to lie in hay and 
straw, and held them thereof highly pleased." 

And of these same knights and ladies, the French memoir 
writer, Du Bellay, says, " I will not pause to relate the great 
' Little trust can be in woine^i and children. 



FLODDEN FIELD. 37 

superfluous expense, for it cannot be estimated. It was 
such that many wore their mills, their forests, and their 
meadows, upon their backs." 



VIII. 

FLODDEN FIELD. 

SCOTT. 

[In spite of this show of friendship Henry's alliance was 
really given to the French King's rival, the Emperor 
Charles the Fifth ; and Francis avenged himself by 
spurring the Scots to make war on England. Their King, 
James the Fourth, led his army over the English border 
into Northumberland, and there m-et the English at 
Flodden Field.] 

The Scottish army had fixed their camp upon a hill called 
Flodden, which rises to close in, as it were, the extensive 
flat called Millfield Plain. This eminence slopes steeply 
towards the plain, and there is an extended piece of level 
ground on the top, where the Scots might have drawn up 
their army, and awaited at great advantage the attack of the 
English. Surrey^ liked the idea of venturing an assault on 
that position so ill, that he resolved to try whether he could 
not prevail on the King .to abandon it. He sent a herald 
to invite James to come down from the height, and join 
battle in the open plain of Millfield below — reminded him 
of the readiness with which he had accepted his former 
challenge — and hinted, that it was the opinion of the 
English chivalry assembled for battle that any delay of the 
encounter would sound to the King's dishonour. We have 
seen that James was sufficiently rash and imprudent, but 
1 The Earl of Surrey , the English leadei: 
9* 



38 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

his impetuosity did not reach to the pitch Surrey perhaps 
expected. He refused to receive the messenger into his 
presence, and returned for answer to the message, that it 
was not such as it became an earl to send to a king. 

Surrey, therefore, distressed for provisions, was obhged 
to resort to another mode of bringing the Scots to 
action. He moved northward, sweeping round the hill 
of Flodden, keeping out of the reach of the Scottish 
artillery, until, crossing the Till near Twisell castle, he 
placed himself, with his whole army, betwixt James and 
his own kingdom. The King suffered him to make this 
flank movement without interruption, though it must have 
afforded repeated and advantageous opportunities for attack. 
But when he saw the English army interposed betwixt him 
and his dominions, he became alarmed lest he should be 
cut oft" from Scotland. In this apprehension he was con- 
firmed by one Giles Musgrave, an Englishman, whose coun- 
sel he used upon the occasion, and who assured him that if 
he did not descend and fight with the English army, the 
Earl of Surrey would enter Scotland, and lay waste the 
whole country. Stimulated by this apprehension the King 
resolved to give signal for the fatal battle. With this view 
the Scots set fire to their huts and the other refuse and 
litter of their camp. The smoke spread along the side of 
the hill, and under its cover the army of King James de- 
scended the eminence, which is much less steep on the 
northern than the southern side, while the English advanced 
to meet them, both concealed from each other by the clouds 
of smoke. 

The Scots descended in four strong columns, all marching 
parallel to each other, having a reserve of the Lothian men, 
commanded by Earl Bothwell. The English were also 
divided into four bodies, with a reserve of cavalry led by 
Dacre. 



FLODDEN FIELD. 



39 



The battle commenced at the hour of four in the after- 
noon. The first which encountered was the left wing of the 
Scots, commanded by the Earl of Huntly and Lord Home, 
which overpowered and threw into disorder the right wing 
of the English, under Sir Edmund Howard. Sir Edmund 
was beaten down, his standard taken, and he himself in 
danger of instant death, when he was relieved by the Bas- 
tard Heron, who came up at the head of a band of deter- 
mined outlaws like himself, and extricated Howard. But 
the English cavalry, under Dacre, which acted as a reserve, 
appears to have kept the victors in check ; while Thomas 
Howard, the lord high admiral, who commanded the second 
division of the English, bore down and routed the Scottish 
division commanded by Crawford and Montrose, who were' 
both slain. Thus matters went on the Scottish left. Upon 
the extreme right of James's army a division of Highlanders, 
consisting of the clans of MacKenzie, MacLean and others, 
commanded by the Earls of Lennox and Argyle were so 
insufferably annoyed by the volleys of English arrows, that 
they broke their ranks, and, in despite of the cries, entreaties, 
and signals of the French ambassador, who endeavoured to 
stop them, rushed tumultuously down hill, and being at once 
attacked in front and rear by Sir Edward Stanley, with the 
men of Cheshire and Lancashire, were routed with great 
slaughter. 

The only Scottish division which remains to be men- 
tioned was commanded by James in person, and consisted 
of the choicest of his nobles and gentry, whose armour 
was so good that the arrows made but slight impression 
upon them. They were all on foot — the King himself had 
parted with his horse. They engaged the Earl of Surrey, 
who opposed to them the division which he personally 
commanded. The Scots attacked with the greatest fury, 
and, for a time, had the better. Surrey's squadrons were 



40 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

disordered, his standard in great danger, Bothwell and the 
Scottish reserve were advancing, and the EngHsh seemed in 
some risk of losing the battle. But Stanley,, who had 
defeated the Highlanders, came up on one flank of the 
King's division ; the admiral, who had conquered Crawford 
and Montrose, assailed them on the other. The Scots showed 
the most undaunted courage. Uniting themselves with 
the reserve under Bothwell tliey formed into a circle, with 
their spears extended on every side, and fought obstinately. 
Bows being now useless, the English advanced on all sides 
with their bills, a huge weapon which made ghastly wounds. 
But they could not force the Scots either to break or retire, 
although the carnage among them was dreadful. James 
himself died amidst his warlike peers and loyal gentry. He 
was twice wounded with arrows, and at length despatched 
with a bill. Night fell without the battle being absolutely 
decided, for the Scottish centre kept their ground, and 
Home and Dacre held each other at bay. But during the 
night the remainder of the Scottish army drew off in silent 
despair from the bloody field, on which they left their King 
and their choicest nobles and gentlemen. 

This great and decisive victory was gained by the Earl of 
Surrey on 9th September, 15 13. The victors had about 
five thousand men slain, the Scots twice that number at 
least. But the loss lay not so much in the number of the 
slain as in their ra.nk and quality. The English lost very 
few men of distinction. The Scots left on the field the 
King, two bishops, two mitred abbots, twelve earls, thirteen 
lords, and five eldest sons of peers. The number of gentle- 
men slain was beyond calculation — there is scarcely a 
family of name in Scottish history who did not lose a 
relative there. 

The body which the English afiirm to have been that of 
James was found on the field by Lord Dacre, and carried 



THE TRANSLATION OF THE BIBLE. 41 

by him to Berwick, and presented to Surrey. Both of these 
lords knew James's person too well to be mistaken. The body 
was also acknowledged by his two favourite attendants, Sir 
William Scott and Sir John Forman, who wept at behold- 
ing it. The fate of these relics was singular and degrading. 
They were not committed to the tomb, for the Pope, being 
at that time in alliance with England against France, had 
laid James under a sentence of excommunication, so that 
no priest dared pronounce the funeral service over them. 
The royal corpse was therefore embalmed and sent to the 
Monastery of Sheen, in Surrey. It lay there till the 
Reformation, when the monastery was given to the Duke of 
Suffolk : and after that period the body, which was lapped 
up \in a sheet of lead, was suffered to toss about the house 
like a piece of useless lumber. Stow, the historian, saw it 
flung into a waste room among old pieces of wood, lead, 
and other rubbish. Some idle workmen, " for their foolish 
pleasure," says the same writer, "hewed off the head ; and 
one Lancelot Young, master-glazier to Queen Elizabeth, 
finding a sweet smell come from thence, owing doubtless 
to the spices used for embalming the body, carried the head 
home and kept it for some time ; but in the end caused the 
sexton of Saint Michael's, Wood Street, to bury it in the 
charnel-house," 



IX. 

THE TRANSLATION OF THE BIBLE. 
GREEN. 

[While Henry the Eighth was thus dreaming of foreign 
wars and conquests, the world was being stirred by the 
first movements of the* religious change called the Re 
formation. This began with Luther, who soon won 



42 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Northern Germany from its adherence to the Pope ; but 
it passed over to England, where the ground had been 
prepared for it by the previous efforts of Wydif and the 
Lollards.] 

As a great social and political movement Lollardry had 
ceased to exist, and little remained of the directly religious 
impulse given by Wyclif beyond a vague restlessness and 
discontent with the system of the Church, But weak and 
fitful as was the life of Lollardry, the prosecutions whose 
records lie scattered over the bishops' registers failed 
wholly to kill it. We see groups meeting here and there 
to read " in a great book of heresy all one night certain 
chapters of the Evangelists in English," while transcripts 
of Wychf s tracts passed from hand to hand. The smoul- 
dering embers needed but a breath to fan them into flame, 
and the breath came from William Tyndale. Born among 
the Cotswolds ^ when Bosworth Field gave England to the 
Tudors, Tyndale passed from Oxford to Cambridge to feel 
the full impulse given by the appearance there of the New 
Testament of Erasmus.^ From that moment one thought 
was at his heart. He ''perceived by experience how that 
it was impossible to estabhsh the lay people in any truth 
except the scripture were plainly laid before their eyes in 
their mother tongue." " If God spare my life," he said to a 
learned controversialist, " ere many years I will cause a boy 
that driveth a plough shall know more of the scripture than 
thou dost." But he was a man of forty before his dream be- 
came fact. Drawn from his retirement in Gloucestershire by 
the news of Luther's protest at Wittemberg,^ he found shelter 

^ In Gloucestershire. ^ A Dutch scholar whose version of 

the Greek Testament, with notes, gave the first impulse to new 
religious thought. He taught for a while at Cambridge. 

2 Luther began his work by a protest against the sale ofiiidul- 
gences or the remission of purgatorial publishment for sins. 



THE TRANSLATION OF THE BIBLE. 43 

for a year with a London alderman, Humfrey Monmouth. 
" He studied most part of the day at l)is book," said his 
host afterwards, " and would eat but sodden meat by his 
good will and drink but small single beer." The book at 
which he studied was the Bible. But it was soon needful 
to quit England if his purpose was to hold. " I understood 
at the last not only that there was no room in my lord of 
London's * palace to translate the New Testament, but also 
that there was no place to do it in all England," 

From Hamburg, where he took refuge in 1524, he pro- 
bably soon found his way to the little town which had sud- 
denly become the sacred city of the Reformation.^ Students 
of all nations were flocking there with an enthusiasm which 
resembled that of the Crusades. " As they came in sight 
of the town," a contemporary tells us, "they returned 
thanks to God with clasped hands, for from Wittemberg, 
as heretofore from Jerusalem, the light of evangelical truth 
had spread to the utmost parts of the earth." Such a 
visit could only fire Tyndale to face the " poverty, exile, 
bitter absence from friends, hunger and thirst and cold, 
great dangers, and innumerable other hard and sharp 
fightings," which the work he had set himself was to bring 
with it. In 1525 his version of the New Testament was 
completed, and means were furnished by English merchants 
for printing it at Koln. But Tyndale had soon to fly with 
his sheets to Worms, a city whose Lutheran tendencies 
made it a safer refuge, and it was from Worms that six 
thousand copies of the New Testament were sent in 1526 
to English shores. 

The King was keenly opposed to a book which he looked 
on as made ''at the soHcitation and instance of Luther ;" 
and even the men of the New ^ Learning, from whom it 

4 T/ie Bisliop of Lo7idon. ^ Wittemberg, where Luther 

taught. ^ The scholars who sympathized with learning and 



44 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

might have hoped for welcome, were estranged from it by 
its Lutheran origin. We can only fairly judge their action 
by viewing it in the light of the time. What Warham and 
More ^ saw over sea might well have turned them from a 
movement which seemed breaking down the very foundations 
of religion and society. Not only was the fabric of the 
Church rent asunder and the centre of Christian unity ^ de- 
nounced as " Babylon," but the reform itself seemed passing 
into anarchy. Luther was steadily moving onward from the 
denial of one Catholic dogma to that of another ; and what 
Luther still clung to his followers were ready to fling away. 
Carlstadt was denouncing the reformer of Wittemberg as 
fiercely as Luther himself had denounced the Pope, and 
meanwhile the rehgious excitement was kindling wild 
dreams of social revolution, and men stood aghast at the 
horrors of a Peasant War which broke out in Southern Ger- 
many. It was not therefore as a mere translation of the 
Bible that Tyndale's work reached England. It came as a 
part of the Lutheran movement, and it bore tlie Lutheran 
stamp in its version of ecclesiastical words. "Church" 
became " congregation," " priest " was changed into " elder." 
It came too in company with Luther's bitter invectives and 
reprints of the tracts of Wyclif, which the German traders 
of the Steelyard ^ were importing in large numbers. We can 
hardly wonder that More denounced the book as heretical, 
or that Warham ordered it to be given up by all who 
possessed it. 

Wolsey took little heed of religious matters, but his policy 
was one of poHtical adhesion to Rome, and he presided 
over a solemn penance, to which some Steelyard men sub- 

wz/k the work of Erasmus were called " Men of the New 
Learning.^' 7 Archbishop Warhajn and Sir Thomas More 

were the heads of the New Learning in England. ^ Rome, 

or the Papacy. '^ The London establishment of the traders 

from the Hanseatic towns of North Germany. 



THE TRANSLATION OF THE BIBLE. 45 

mitted in St. Paul's. " AVith six and thirty abbots, mitred 
priors, and bishops, and he in his whole pomp mitred " the 
Cardinal looked on while " great baskets full of books . . . 
were commanded after the great fire was made before the 
Rood of Northen," the crucifix by the great north door of 
the cathedral, " thus to be burned, and those heretics to go 
thrice about the fire and to cast in their fagpts." But 
scenes and denunciations such as these were vain in the 
presence of an enthusiasm which grew every hour. " Eng- 
lishmen," says a scholar of the time, " were so eager for the 
gospel as to affirm that they would buy a New Testament 
even if they had to give a hundred thousand pieces of 
money for it." Bibles and pamphlets were smuggled over 
to England and circulated among the poorer and trading 
classes through the agency of an association of " Christian 
Brethren," consisting principally of London tradesmen and 
citizens, but whose missionaries spread over the country at 
large. 

They found their way at once to the Universities where 
the intellectual impulse given by the New Learning 
was quickening religious speculation. Cambridge had 
already won a name for heresy; Barnes, one of its fore- 
most scholars, had to carry his fagot before Wolsey at St. 
Paul's ; two other Cambridge teachers, Biiney and Latimer, 
were already known as " Lutherans." The Cambridge 
scholars whom Wolsey introduced into Cardinal College ^^ 
which he was founding spread the contagion through 
Oxford. A group of. " Brethren" was formed in Cardinal 
College for the secret reading and discussion of the Epistles; 
and this soon included the more intelligent and learned 
scholars of the University. It was in vain that Clark, the 
centre of this group, strove to dissuade fresh members from 
joining it by \^arnings of the impending dangers. "I fell 
^^ Nota Christ-Church. 



46 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

down on my knees at his feet," says one of them, Anthony 
Dalaber, " and with tears and sighs besought him that for 
the tender mercy of God he should not refuse me, saying 
that I trusted verily that he who had begun this on me 
would not forsake me, but would give me grace to continue 
therein to the end. When he heard me say so he came to 
me, took me in his arms, and kissed me, saying, ' The Lord 
God Almighty grant you so to do, and from henceforth 
ever take me for your father, and I will take you for my 
son in Christ.' " 



X. 

CORONATION OF ANNE BOLEYN. 
FROUDE. 

[Henry the Eighth had no love for the new opinions : but 
at this moment he was drawn into a quarrel with the 
Papacy by its refusal to divorce him from his Queen, 
Catharine of Aragon. The quarrel widened into an 
actual breach between Rome and England. Henry threw 
off all connexion with Rome, and in defiance of its in- 
junctions married a new queen, Anne Boleyn. Her 
solemn coronation announced that the separation of 
England from the Papacy was irrevocable.] 

On the morning of the 31st of May, the families of the 
London citizens were stirring early in all houses. From 
Temple Bar to the Tower the streets were fresh strewed 
with gravel, the footpaths were railed off along the whole 
distance, and occupied on one side by the gilds, their 
workmen and apprentices, on the other by the city con- 
stables and officials in their gaudy uniforms, " with their 
staves in hand for to cause the people to keep good 



I 



CORONATION OF ANNE BOLEYN. 47 

room and order." Cornhill and Gracechurch Street had 
dressed their fronts in scarlet and crimson, in arras and 
tapestry, and the rich carpet-work from Persia and the 
East. Cheapside, to outshine her rivals, was draped even 
more splendidly in cloth of gold, and tissue and velvet. 
The sheriffs were pacing up and down on their great 
Flemish horses, hung with liveries, and all the windows were 
thronged with ladies crowding to see the procession pass. 
At length the Tower guns opened, the grim gates rolled back, 
and under the archway, in the bright May sunshine, the 
long column began slowly to defile. Two states only per- 
mitted their representatives to grace the scene with their 
presence — Venice and France. It was perhaps to make 
the most of this isolated countenance that the French 
ambassador's train formed the van of the cavalcade. 
Twelve French knights came riding foremost in surcoats 
of blue velvet with sleeves of yellovv silk, their horses 
trapped in blue, with white crosses powdered on their 
hangings. After them followed a troop of English gentle- 
men, two and two, and then the Knights of the Bath, " in 
gowns of violet with hoods purfled with m.iniver, Hke 
doctors." Next, perhaps at a little interval, the abbots 
passed on mitred in their robes ; the barons followed in 
crimson velvet, the bishops then, and then the earls and 
marquises, the dresses of each order increasing in elaborate 
gorgeousness. All these rode on in pairs. Then came 
alone Audeley, Lord Chancellor, and behind him the 
Venetian ambassador and the Archbishop of York ; the 
Archbishop of Canterbury, and Du Bellay, Bishop of 
Bayonne and of Paris, not now with bugle and hunting- 
frock, but solemn with stole and crozier. Next, the lord 
mayor, with the city mace in hand, and Garter in his coat- 
of-arras ; and then Eord William Howard — Belted Will 
Howard, of the Scottish Border, Marshal of England. The 



48 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

officers of the Queen's household succeeded the marshal in 
scarlet and gold, and the van of the procession was closed 
by the Duke of Suffolk, as high constable, with his silver 
wand. It is no easy matter to picture to ourselves the 
blazing trail of splendour which in such a pageant must 
have drawn along the London streets, — those streets which 
now we know so black and smoke-grimed, themselves then 
radiant with masses of colour, gold, and crimson, and 
violet. Yet there it was, and there the sun could shine 
upon it, and tens of thousands of eyes were gazing on the 
scene out of the crowded lattices. 

Glorious as the spectacle was, perhaps however it passed 
unheeded. Those eyes were watching all for another ob- 
ject which now drew near. In an open space behind the 
constable there was seen approaching a '' white chariot," 
drawn by two palfreys in white damask which swept the 
ground ; a golden canopy borne above it, making music 
with silver bells : and in the chariot sat the observed of all 
observers, the beautiful occasion of all tliis glittering 
homage; fortune's plaything of the hour,^ the Queen of 
England — queen at last — borne along upon the waves of 
this sea of glory, breathing the perfumed incense of great- 
ness which she had risked her fair name, her delicacy, her 
honour, her self-respect to win ; and she had won it. There 
she sate, dressed in white tissue robes, her fair hair flow- 
ing loose over her shoulders, and her temples circled with 
a light coronet of gold and diamonds — most beautiful — 
loveliest — most favoured perhaps, as she seemed at that 
hour, of all England's daughters. 

Three short years have yet to pass, and again, on a 

summer morning. Queen Anne Boleyn will leave the Tower 

of London — not radiant then with beauty on a gay errand 

of coronation, but a poor wandering ghost, on a sad tragic 

1 Anue Boleyn. 



CORONATION OF ANNE BOLEYN. 49 

errand, from which she will never more return, passing away 
out of an earth, where she may stay no longer, into a pre- 
sence where, nevertheless, we know that all is well — for all 
of us — and therefore for her. 

But let us not cloud her short-lived sunshine with the 
shadow of the future. She went on in her loveliness, the 
peeresses following in their carriages, with the royal guard 
in their rear. In Fenchurch Street she was met by the 
children of the city schools ; and at the corner of Grace- 
church Street a masterpiece had been prepared of the 
pseudo-classic art, then so fashionable, by the merchants of 
the Styll-yard. A Mount Parnassus had been constructed, 
and a Helicon fountain upon it playing into a basin with 
four jets of Rhenish wine. On the top of the mountain sat 
Apollo with Calliope at his feet, and on either side the 
remaining Muses, holding lutes or harps, and singing each 
of them some "posy" or epigram in praise of the Queen, 
which was presented, after it had been sung, written in 
letters of gold. From Gracechurch Street, the procession 
passed to Leadenhall, where thet-e was a spectacle in better 
taste, of the old English Catholic kind, quaint perhaps 
and forced, but truly and even beautifully emblematic. 
There was again "a little mountain," which was hung with 
red and white roses ; a gold ring was placed on the summit, 
on which, as the Queen appeared, a white falcon was made 
to ''descend as out of the sky" — "and then incontinent 
came down an angel with great melody, and set a close 
crown of gold upon the falcon's head ; and in the same 
pageant sat Saint Anne with all her issue beneath her ; and 
Mary Cleophas with her four children, of the which children 
one made a goodly oration to the Queen, of the fruitfulness 
of Saint Anne, trusting that the fruit should come of her." 

With such "pretty conceits," at that time the honest 
tokens of an English welcome, the new Queen was received 



50 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

by the citizens of London. These scenes must be multi- 
plied by the number of the streets, where some fresh fancy 
met her at every turn. To preserve the festivities from 
flagging, every fountain and conduit within the walls ran 
all day with wine ; the bells of every steeple were ringing ; 
children lay in wait with songs, and ladies with posies, in 
which all the resources of fantastic extravagance were ex- 
hausted ; and thus in an unbroken triumph — and to outward 
appearance received with the warmest affection — she passed 
under Temple Bar, down the Strand by Charing Cross to 
Westminster Hall. The King was not with her through- 
out the day ; nor did he intend to be with her in any part 
of the ceremony. She was to reign without a rival, the 
undisputed sovereign of the hour. 

Saturday being passed in showing herself to the people, 
she retired for the night to *'the King's manour-house at 
Westminster," where she slept. On the following morning 
between eight and nine o'clock she returned to the Hall, 
where the lord mayor, the city council, and the peers were 
again assembled, and took her place on the high dais at the 
top of the stairs under the cloth of state ; while the bishops, 
tne abbots, and the monks of the Abbey formed in the 
area. A railed way had been laid with carpets across 
Palace Yard and the Sanctuary to the Abbey gates, and 
when all was ready, preceded by the peers in their robes of 
Parliament, the Knights of the Garter in the dress of the 
order, she swept out under her canopy, the bishops and the 
monks "solemnly singing." The train was borne by the 
old Duchess of Norfolk, her aunt, the Bishops of London 
and Winchester on either side " bearing up the lappets of 
her robe." The Earl of Oxford carried the crown on its 
cush'on immediately before her. She was dressed in purple 
velvet furred with ermine, her hair escaping loose, as she 
usually wore it, under a wreath of diamonds. On entering 



WYAT'S INSURRECTION. 51 

the Abbey she was led to the coronation chair, where she 
sat while the train fell into their places, and the preliminaries 
of the ceremonial were despatched. Then she was con- 
ducted up to the high altar and anointed Queen of England, 
and she received from the hands of Cranmer,^ fresh come 
in haste from Dunstable, with the last words of his sentence 
upon Catharine scarcely silent upon his lips, the golden 
sceptre and St. Edward's crown. 

XL 

WYAT'S INSURRECTION. 
LINGARD. 

[Anne Boleyn was soon divorced and put to death; but 
Henry still clung to his independence of Rome. But 
though thus parted from the Pope, he strove to avoid any 
change of religious belief, for he hated Protestantism as 
much as he hated Rome. When he died, however, the 
Protestants became rulers of England. The new King, 
Edward the Sixth, was a boy ; and the nobles who ruled 
in his name were Protestants and forced their belief on 
the land. There was revolt and discontent, for the bulk 
of Englishmen were like Henry the Eighth, and wished 
to be free from Rome, but to retain their old beliefs. 
Revolt however was put down ; and all had to be Pro- 
testants till Edward died, a few years afterwards. Then 
his sister Mary came to the throne. She was a bigoted 
Catholic, and set herself to undo all that had been 
done. Not only did she do away with Protestantism, 
but she brought England again under obedience to the 
See of Rome. At first she did not persecute the Pro- 
testants : but they feared she would soon do so ; and 
their fears were increased by news of Mary's purpose to 
wed Philip of Spain. They rose in revolt in Western and 
Middle England, and above all in Kent.] 

2 Craniner was Archbishop of Canterbury. He had just pro^ 
nounced the sentence of divorce between Henry and Catharine. 



52 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

It was in Kent only that the insurrection assumed a 
formidable appearance under the direction of Sir Thomas 
Wyat. If we may believe his own assertion he ought not 
to be charged with the origin of the conspiracy. It was 
formed without his knowledge, and was first communicated 
to him by the Earl of Devon ; but he engaged in it with 
cheerfulness, under the persuasion that the marriage of the 
Queen with Philip would be followed by the death of the 
Lady ElizabetlV and by the .subversion of the national 
liberties. By the apostasy of Courienay,^ he became one of 
the principals in the insurrection : and while his associates, 
by their presumption and weakness, proved themselves un- 
equal to the attempt, he excited the applause of his very 
adversaries, by the secrecy and address with which he 
organized the rising, and by the spirit and perseverance 
with which he conducted the enterprise. The moment he 
drew the sword, fifteen hundred armed men assembled 
around him ; while five thousand others remained at their 
homes, ready, at the first toll of the alarum-bell, to crowd 
to his standard. He fixed his head-quarters in the old and 
ruinous castle of Rochester ; a squadron of five sail, in the 
Thames, under his secret associate Winter, supplied him 
with cannon and ammunition ; and batteries were erected 
to command the passage of the bridge, and the opposite 
bank of the river. Yet fortune did not appear to favour 
his first attempts. Sir Robert Southwell dispersed a party 
of insurgents under Knevet; the Lord Abergavenny de- 
feated a large reinforcement led by Isley, another of the 
conspirators ; and the citizens of Canterbury rejected his 
entreaties and derided his threats. It required all his 
address to keep his followers together. Though he boasted 
of the succours which he daily expected from France 

1 Anne^ Boleyn^s daughter, afterwards Queen Elizabeth. 

2 The Earl of Denon. 



WYAT'S INSURRECTION. 53 

though he circulated reports of successful risings in other 
parts of the country, many of the insurgents began to 
waver ; several sent to the council offers to return to their 
duty, on condition of pardon ; and there is reason to believe 
that the main force under Wyat would have dissolved of 
itself, had it been suffered to remain a few days longer in a 
state of inactivity. 

But the Duke of Norfolk had already marched from 
London, with a detachment of guards, under the command 
of Sir Henry Jerningham. He was immediately followed 
by five hundred Londoners, led by Captain Bret, and was 
afterwards joined by the Sheriff of Kent with the bands of 
the county. This force was far inferior in number to the 
enemy; and, what was of more disastrous consequence, 
some of its leaders were in secret league with Wyat. The 
Duke, having in vain made an offer of pardon, ordered the 
bridge td be forced. The troops were already in motion, 
when Bret, who led the van, halted his column, and raising 
his sword, exclaimed, " Masters, we are going to fight in an 
unholy quarrel against our friends and countrymen, who 
seek only to preserve us from the dominion of foreigners. 
Wherefore I think that no English heart should oppose 
them, and am resolved for my own part to shed my blood 
in the cause of this worthy captain. Master Wyat." This 
address was seconded by Brian Fitzwilliam ; shouts of " a 
Wyat ! a Wyat ! " burst from the ranks ; and the Londoners, 
instead of advancing against the rebels, faced about to 
oppose the royalists. At that moment Wyat himself joined 
them at the head of his cavalry ; and the. Duke, with his 
principal officers, apprehending a general defection, fled 
towards Gravesend. Seven pieces of artillery fell into the 
hands of the insurgents ; their ranks were recruited from 
the deserters ; and the whole body, confident of victory, 
began their march in the direction of London. 
10 



54 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

This unexpected result revealed to the Queen the alarmmg 
secret that the conspiracy had pushed its branches into the 
very heart of the metropolis. Every precaution was imme- 
diately taken for the security of the court, the Tower, and 
the city ; the bridges for fifteen miles were broken down, 
and the boats secured on the opposite bank of the river ; 
the neighbouring peers received orders to raise their tenantry, 
and hasten to the protection of the royal person; and a 
reward of one hundred pounds per annum in land was 
offered for the apprehension of Wyat. That chieftain, with 
fifteen thousand men under his command, had marched 
through Dartford to Greenwich and Deptford, when a 
message from the council, inquiring into the extent of his 
demands, betrayed their diffidence, and added to his pre- 
sumption. In the court and the council-room, nothing was 
to be heard but expressions of mistrust and apprehension ; 
some blamed the precipitancy of Gardiner^ in the change of 
religion ; some the interested policy of the advisers of the 
Spanish match ; and tlie imperial ambassadors, with the 
exception of Renard, fearing for their Hvag, escaped in a 
merchant-vessel lying in the river. The Queen ■^ alone 
appeared firm and collected ; she betrayed no symptom of 
fear, no doubt of the result ; she ordered her ministers to 
provide the means of defence, and undertook to fix, by her 
confidence and address, the wavering loyalty of the 
Londoners. The lord mayor had called an extraordinary 
meeting of the citizens ; and, at three in the afternoon, 
Mary, with the sceptre in her hand, and accompanied by 
her ladies and officers of state, entered the Guildhall. She 
was received with every demonstration of respect, and, in a 
firm and dignified tone, complained of the disobedience 
and insolence of the men of Kent. At first the leaders 
had condemned her intended marriage with the Prince of 
^ Bishop of Winchester a7id miiiister of the Queen. ^ Mary, 



WYAT'S INSURRECTION. 55 

Spain; now they had betrayed their real design. They 
demanded the custody of her person, the appointment of 
her council, and the command of the Tower. Their object 
was to obtain the exercise of the royal authority, and to 
aboHsh the national worship. But she was convinced that 
her people loved her too well to surrender her into the 
hands of rebels. '' As for this marriage," she continued, 
" ye shall understand that I enterprised not the doing 
thereof, without the advice of all our privy council ; nor am 
I, I assure ye, so bent to my own will, or so affectionate, 
that for my own pleasure I would choose where I lust, or 
needs must have a husband. I have hitherto lived a maid ', 
and doubt nothing, but with God's grace I am able to live 
so still. Certainly, did I think that this marriage were to 
the hurt of you my subjects, or the impeachment of ray 
royal estate^ I would never consent thereunto. And, I 
promise you, on the vv^ord of a queen, that, if it shall not 
appear to the Lords and Commons in parliament to be for 
the benefit of the whole realm, I will never marry while I 
live. Wherefore, stand fast against these rebels, your 
enemies and mine ; fear them not, for I assure ye, I fear 
them nothing at all ; and I will leave with you my Lord 
Howard and my lord admiral, who will be assistant with 
the mayor for your defence." With these words she 
departed ; the hall rang with acclamations ; and by the 
next morning more than twenty thousand men had enrolled 
their names for the protection of the city. 

The next day Wyat entered Southwark. But his followers 
had dwindled to seven thousand men, and were hourly 
diminishing. No succours had arrived from France ; no 
insurrection had burst forth in any other county ; and the 
royal army was daily strengthened by reinforcements. The 
batteries erected on the walls of the Tower compelled him 
to leave Southwark; but he had by this time arranged a 



56 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

plan with some of the reformers in the city to surprise 
Ludgate an hour before sunrise ; and for that purpose 
directed his march towards Kingston. Thirty feet of the 
wooden bridge had been destroyed ; but he swam, . or 
prevailed on two seamen to swim, across the river, and, 
having procured a boat from the opposite bank, laboured 
with a few associates at the repairs, while his men refreshed 
themselves in the town. At eleven at night the insurgents 
passed the bridge ; at Brentford they drove in the advanced 
post of the royaHsts ; but an hour was lost in repairing the 
carriage of a cannon, and, as it became too late for Wyat to 
keep his appointment at Ludgate, the chief of his advisers 
abandoned him in despair. Among these were Poinet, the 
Protestant Bishop of Winchester, who now hastened to the 
Continent; and Sir George Harper, who rode to St. James's, 
and announced the approach and expectations of Wyat. 
He arrived about two hours after midnight. The palace 
was instantly filled with alarm ; the boldness of the attempt 
gave birth to reports of treason in the city and the court ; 
and the ministers on their knees, particularly the Chancellor, 
conjured the Queen to provide for her own safety, by retiring 
into the Tower. But Mary scorned the timidity of her 
advisers : from the Earl of Pembroke and Lord Clinton 
she received assurances that they would do their duty ; and 
in return she announced her fixed determination to remain 
at her post. In a council of w^ar it was decided to place 
a strong force at Ludgate, to permit the advance of "Wyat, 
and then to press on him from every quarter, and to inclose 
him like a wild beast in the toils. 

At four in the morning the drum beat to arms ; and in a 
few hours the royalists under Pembroke and Clinton 
amounted to ten thousand infantry, and fifteen hundred 
cavalry. The hill opposite St. James's was occupied with a 
battery of cannon and a strong squadron of horse ; lower 



WYAT'S INSURRECTION. 57 

down, and nearer to Charing Cross, were posted two 
divisions of infantry ; and several smaller parties were 
detached to different points in the vicinity. About nine, 
Wyat reached Hyde Park Corner. Many of his followers 
Avho heard of the Queen's proclamation of pardon, had 
slunk away in the darkness of the night; the rest were 
appalled at the sight of the formidable array before their 
eyes. But their leader saw that to recede must be his ruin ; 
he still relied on the co-operation of the conspirators and 
reformers in the city ; and after a short cannonade, seizing 
a standard, rushed forward to charge the cavalry. They 
opened; allowed three or four hundred men to pass ; and 
closing, cut off the communication between them and the 
main body. The insurgents, separated from their leader, 
did not long sustain the unequal contest ; about one 
hundred were killed, great numbers wounded, and four 
hundred made prisoners. Wyat paid no attention to the 
battle which raged behind his back. Intent on his purpose, 
he hastened through Piccadilly, insulted the gates of the 
palace, and proceeded towards the city. No molestation 
was offered by the armed bands stationed on each side of 
the street. At Ludgate he knocked, and demanded admit- 
tance, ''for the Queen had granted all his petitions." — 
"Avaunt, traitor!" exclaimed from the gallery the Lord 
William Howard, " thou shalt have no entrance here.'' Dis- 
appointed and confounded, he retraced his steps, till he 
came opposite the inn called the Bel Savage. There he 
halted a few minutes. To the spectators he seemed ab- 
sorbed in thought ; but was quickly aroused by the shouts 
of the combatants, and with forty companions continued to 
fight his way back, till he reached Temple Bar. He found 
it occupied by a strong detachment of horse ; whatever 
way he turned, fresh bodies of royalists poured upon him ; 
and Norroy king at arms advancing, exhorted him to spare 



5S PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

the blood of his friends, and to yield himself a prisoner. 
After a moment's pause, he threw away his sword, and 
surrendered to Sir Maurice Berkeley, who carried him first 
to the Court, and thence to the Tower. 



XII. 

THE PROTESTANT MARTYRS. 

GREEN. 

[Wyat's revolt brought on the persecution it was intended 
to avert. Mary looked on all Protestants as traitors, 
and resolved to destroy Protestantism. A law was passed 
against heretics, and at once put in force.] 

Whether from without or from within, warning was wasted 
on the fierce bigotry of the Queen. It was, as Gardiner 
asserted, not at the counsel of her ministers, but by her own 
personal will that the laws against heresy had been laid 
before Parliament ; and now that they were enacted Mary 
pressed for their execution. Her resolve was probably 
quickened by the action of the Protestant zealots. The 
failure of Wyat's revolt was far from taming the enthusiasm 
of the wilder reformers. The restoration of the old 
worship was followed by outbreaks of bold defiance. A 
tailor of St. Giles-in-the-Fields shaved a dog with the 
priestly tonsure. A cat was found hanging in the Cheap ^ 
"with her head shorn, and the likeness of a vestment cast 
over her, with her forefeet tied together, and a round piece 
of paper like a singing cake between them." Yet more 
galling were the ballads which were circulated in mockery 
of the mass, the pamphlets which came from the exiles ^ 

^ Cheapside. ^ Many of the Protestants Jiad fled for 

safety to Switzerland and Germany. 



THE PROTESTANT MARTYRS. 59 

over sea, the seditious broadsides dropped in the streets, 
the interludes^ in which the most sacred acts of the old 
religion were flouted with ribald mockery. All this defiance 
only served to quicken afresh the purpose of the Queen, 
But it was not till the opening of 1555, when she had 
already been a year and a half on the throne, that the 
opposition of her councillors was at last mastered, and 
the persecution began. In February the deprived Bishop 
of Gloucester, Hooper, was burned in his cathedral city, 
a London vicar, Lawrence Saunders, at Coventry, and 
Rogers, a prebendary of St. Paul's, at London. Ferrar, 
the deprived Bishop of St. David's, w^ho was burned at 
Caermarthen, \va3 one of eight victims who suffered in 
March. Four followed in April and May, six in June, 
eleven in July, eighteen in August, eleven in September. 
In October Ridley, the deprived Bishop of London, was 
drawn with Latimer from their prison at Oxford. " Play 
the man, Master Ridley ! " cried the old preacher of the 
Reformation, as the flames shot up around him ; " we shall 
this day light up such a candle by God's grace in England 
as I trust shall never be put out." 

If the Protestants had not known how to govern indeed, 
they knew how to die ; and the cause which prosperity had 
ruined revived in the dark hour of persecution. The 
memory of their violence and greed faded away as they 
passed unwavering to their doom. Such a story as that of 
Rowland Taylor, the vicar of Hadleigh, tells us more of the 
work which was now begun, and of the effect it was likely 
to produce, than pages of historic dissertation. Taylor, 
who as a man of mark had been one of the first victims 
chosen for execution, was arrested in London, and con- 
demned to suffer in his own parish. His wife, " suspecting 
that her husband should that night be carried aw^ay," had 
^ Rhyming plays. 



6o PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

waited through the darkness with her children in the porch 
of St. Botolph's-beside-Aldgate. 

" Now when the sheriff and his company came against 
St. Botolph's Church, Ehzabeth cried, saying, 'O my dear 
father ! Mother ! mother ! here is my father led away ! ' 
Then cried his wife, ' Rowland, Rowland, where art thou ? ' 
for it was a very dark morning, that the one could not 
see the other. Dr. Taylor answered, ' I am here, dear 
wife,' and stayed. The sheriff's men would have led him 
forth, but the sheriff said, ' Stay a little, masters, I pray you, 
and let him speak to his wife.' Then came she to him, 
and he took his daughter Mary in his arms, and he and his 
wife and Elizabeth knelt down and said the Lord's Prayer. 
At which sight the sheriff wept apace, and so did divers 
others of the company. After they had prayed, he rose up 
and kissed his wife and shook her by the hand, and said, 
' Farewell, my dear wife, be of good comfort, for I am 
quiet in my conscience ! God shall still be a father to my 
children.' . . . Then said his wife, ' God be with thee, dear 
Rowland ! I will, with God's grace, meet thee at Hadleigh.' 

''AH the way Dr. Taylor was merry and cheerful as one 
that accounted himself going to a most pleasant banquet or 
bridal. . . . Coming within two miles of Hadleigh he 
desired to light off his horse, which done, he leaped and 
set a frisk or twain as men commonly do for dancing. 
' Why, Master Doctor,' quoth the sheriff, ' how do you 
now?' He answered, 'Well, God be praised, Master 
Sheriff, never better, for now I know that I am almost at 
home. I lack not past two stiles to go over, and I am 
even at my Father's house ! ' The streets of Hadleigh 
were beset on both sides with men and women of the town 
and country who waited to see him whom when they beheld 
so led to death, with weeping eyes and lamentable voices, 
they cried, ' Ah, good Lord ! there goeth our good shepherd 



THE PROTESTANT MARTYRS. 6r 

from us ! '" The journey was at last over. " ^ What place 
is this,' he asked, ' and what meaneth it that so much people 
are gathered together ? ' It was answered, ' It is Oldham 
Common, the place where you must suffer, and the people 
are come to look upon you.' Then said he, ' Thanked be 
God, I am even at home ! ' But when the people saw his 
reverend and ancient face, with a long white beard, they 
burst out with weeping tears and cried, saying, * God save 
thee, good Dr. Taylor; God strengthen thee, and help 
thee ; the Holy Ghost comfort thee ! ' He wished, hut was 
not suffered, to speak. When he had prayed, he went to 
the stake and kissed it, and set himself into a pitch-barrel 
which they had set for him to stand on, and so stood with 
his back upright against the stake, with his hands folded 
together and his eyes towards heaven, and so let himself 
be burned." One of the executioners cruelly cast a faggot 
at him, which hit upon his head and brake his face that the 
blood ran down his visage. Then said Dr. Taylor, " Oh 
friend, I have harm enough, what needed that ? " One 
more act of brutality brought his sufferings to an end. " So 
stood he still without either crying or moving, with his 
hands folded together, till Soyce with a halberd struck 
him on the head that the brains fell out, and the dead 
corpse fell down into the fire." 

The terror of death was powerless against men like 
these. Bonner, the Bishop of London, to whom, as bishop 
of the diocese in which the Council sate, its victims were 
generally delivered for execution, but who, in spite of the 
nickname and hatred which his official "prominence in the 
work of death earned him, seems to have been naturally a 
good-humoured and merciful man, asked a youth who was 
brought before him whether he thought he could bear the 
fire. The boy at once held his hand without flinching 
in the flame of a candle that stood by. Rogers, a fellow 
10* 



62 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

worker with Tyndale in the translation of the Bible, and 
one of the foremost among the Protestant preachers, died 
bathing his hands in the flame " as if it had been in cold 
water." Even the commonest lives gleamed for a moment 
into poetry at the stake. " Pray for me," a boy, William 
Brown, who had been brought home to Brentwood to suffer, 
asked of the bystanders. " I will pray no more for thee," 
one of them replied, " than I will pray for a dog." '" Then,' 
said William, 'Son of God, shine upon me;' and imme- 
diately the sun in the elements shone out of a dark cloud 
so full in his face that he was constrained to look another 
way ; whereat the people mused because it was so dark a 
little time before." Brentwood lay within a district on 
which the hand of the Queen fell heavier than elsewhere. 
The persecution was mainly confined to the more active 
and populous parts of the country, to London, Kent, 
Sussex, and the Eastern Counties. Of the two hundred 
and eighty whom we know to have suffered during the last 
three years and a half of Mary's reign more than forty were 
burned in London, seventeen in the neighbouring village of 
Stratford-le-Bow, four in Islington, two in Southwark, and 
one each at Barnet, St. Albans, and Ware. Kent, at that 
time a home of mining and manufacturing industry, suffered 
as heavily as London. Of its sixty martyrs more than 
forty were furnished by Canterbury, which was then but a 
city of some few thousand inhabitants, and seven by 
Maidstone. The remaining eight suffered at Rochester, 
Ashford, and Dartford. Of the twenty-five who died in 
Sussex, the little town of Lewes sent seventeen to the fire. 
Seventy were contributed by the Eastern Counties, the seat 
of the woollen manufacture. Beyond these districts execu- 
tions were rare. Westward of Sussex we find the record of 
but a dozen martyrdoms, six of which were at Bristol, and 
four at Salisbury. Chester and Wales contributed but four 



PHILIP OF SPAIN. 63 

sufferers to the list. In the Midland Counties between 
the Thames and the Humber only twenty-four suffered 
martyrdom. North of the Humber we find the names of 
but two Yorkshiremen, burned at Bedale. 



XIII. 

PHILIP OF SPAIN. 
MACAULAY. 

[The persecution ended with Mary's death ; and her sister 
Elizabeth, who succeeded her, again restored Protestant- 
ism to its old supremacy. The reign of Elizabeth was 
the greatest in our history ; and under her England rose 
to a power and grandeur it had never known before. 
During the earlier part of her reign she had to struggle 
against Mary Stuart, the Queen of Scotland, who claimed 
her throne, and was backed by the English Catholics : 
in her later years she had to struggle against Philip of 
Spain. Philip was eager to crush Protestantism in Western 
Europe, and this could only be done by crushing England. 
He was still more anxious to keep Englishmen out of the 
seas of the New World, which he claimed as his own. 
The contest with Philip was the greatest war which 
England had ever waged : and it was in fighting him that 
she laid the foundation of her empire over the sea.] 

The empire of Philip the Second was undoubtedly one 
of the most powerful and splendid that ever existed in the 
world. In Europe, he ruled Spain, Portugal, the Nether- 
lands on both sides of the Rhine, Franche Comte, Rous- 
sillon, the Milanese, and the Two Sicilies. Tuscany, Parma, 
and the other small states of Italy, were as completely 
dependent on him as the Nizam and the Rajah of Berar 
now are on the East India Company. In Asia, the King 
of Spain was master of the Philippines and of all those rich 



64 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

settlements which the Portuguese had made on the coast of 
Malabar and Coromandel, in the Peninsula of Malacca, 
and in the Spice-Islands of the Eastern Archipelago."^ In 
America his dominions extended on each side of the 
equator into the temperate zone. There is reason to 
believe that his annual revenue amounted, in the season 
of his greatest povrer, to a sum near teii times as large as 
that which England yielded to Elizabeth. He had a stand- 
ing army of fifty thousand excellent troops, at a time when 
England had not a single battalion in constant pay. His 
ordinary naval force consisted of a hundred and forty 
galleys. He held, what no other prince in modern times 
has held, the dominion both of the land and of the sea. 
During the greater part of his reign, he was supreme on 
both elements. His soldiers marched up to the capital of 
France ; his ships menaced the shores of England. 

It is no exaggeration to say that, during several years, his 
power over Europe was greater than even that of Napoleon. 
The influence of the French conqueror never extended 
beyond low-water mark. The narrowest strait was to his 
power what it was of old believed that a running stream was 
to the sorceries of a witch. While his army entered every 
metropolis from Moscow to Lisbon, the English fleets 
blockaded every port from Dantzic to Trieste. Sicily, 
Sardinia, Majorca, Guernsey, enjoyed security through the 
whole course of a war which endangered every throne on 
the Continent. The victorious and imperial nation which 
had filled its museums with the spoils of Antwerp, of 
Florence, and of Rome, was suffering painfully from the 
want of luxuries which use had made necessaries. While 
pillars and arches were rising to commemorate the French 
conquests, the conquerors were trying to manufacture coffee 
out of succory and sugar out of beet-root. The influence 
^ Philip C07iq7iered Portuj^al and seized its colonies. 



PHILIP OF SPAIN. 65 

of Philip on the Continent was as great as that of Napoleon. 
The Emperor of Germany was his kinsman. France, torn 
by religious dissensions, was never a formidable opponent, 
and was sometimes a dependent ally. At the same time 
Spain had what Napoleon desired in vain, ships, colonies, 
and commerce. She long monopolised the trade of. 
America and of the Indian Ocean. All the gold of the 
West, and all the spices of the East, were received and dis- 
tributed by her. During many years of war her commerce 
was interrupted only by the predatory enterprises of a few 
roving privateers. Even after the defeat of the Armada 
English statesmen continued to look with great dread on 
the maritime power of Philip. " The King of Spain," said 
the Lord Keeper to the two Houses in 1593, "since he 
hath usurped upon the kingdom of Portugal, hath thereby 
grown mighty, by gaining the East Indies : so as, how great 
soever he was before, he is now thereby manifestly more 
great : . . . He keepeth a navy armed to impeach all 
trade of merchandise from England to Gascoigne and 
Guienne, which he attempted to do this last vintage ; so as 
he is now become as a frontier enemy to all the west of 
England, as well as all the south parts, as Sussex, Hamp- 
shire, and the Isle of Wight. Yea, by means of his inter- 
est in St. Maloes, a port full of shipping for the war, he 
is a dangerous neighbour to the Queen's isles of Jersey 
and Guernsey, ancient possessions of this crown, and never 
conquered in the greatest wars with France." 

The ascendency which Spain then had in Europe was, in 
one sense, well deserved. It was an ascendency which had 
been gained by unquestioned superiority in all the arts of 
policy and of war. In the sixteenth century, Italy was not 
more decidedly the land of the fine arts, Germany was not 
more decidedly the land of bold theological speculation, 
than Spain was the land of statesmen and of soldiers. The 



66 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

character which Virgil has ascribed to his countrymen 
might have been claimed by the grave and haughty chiefs 
who surrounded the throne of Ferdinand the Catholic and 
of his immediate successors. That majestic art, " regere 
imperio populos," was not better understood by the Romans 
in the proudest days of their republic than by Gonsalvo 
and Ximenes, Cortes and Alva. The skill of the Spanish 
diplomatists was renowned throughout Europe. In Eng- 
land the name of Gondomar is still remembered. The 
sovereign nation was unrivalled both in regular and irregular 
warfare. The impetuous chivalry of France, the serried 
phalanx of Switzerland, were alike found wanting when 
brought face to face with the Spanish infantry. In the war? 
of the New World, where something different from ordi- 
nary strategy was required in the general and something 
different from ordinary discipline in the soldier, where it 
was every day necessary to meet by some new expedient 
the varying tactics of a barbarous enemy, the Spanish ad- 
venturers, sprung from the common people, displayed a 
fertility of resource, and a talent for negotiation and com- 
mand, to which history scarcely affords a parallel. 

The Castilian of those times was to the Italian what the 
Roman, in the days of the greatness of Rome, was to the 
Greek. The conqueror had less ingenuity, less taste, less 
delicacy of perception than (he conquered ; but far more 
pride, firmness, and courage, a more solemn demeanour, a 
stronger sense of honour. The subject had more subtlety 
in speculation, the ruler more energy in action. The vices 
of the former were those of a coward ; the vices of the 
latter were those of a tyrant. It may be added, that the 
Spaniard, like the Roman, did not disdain to study the arts 
and the language of those whom he oppressed. A revolu- 
tion took place in the literature of Spain, not unlike that 
revolution which, as Horace tells us, took place in the 



PHILIP OF SPAIN. 67 

poetry of Latium. The slave took prisoner the enslaver. 
The old Castilian ballads gave place to sonnets in the style 
of Petrarch and to heroic poems in the stanza of Ariosto, 
as the national songs of Rome were driven out by imita- 
tions of Theocritus and translations from Menander. 

In no modern society, not even in England during the 
reign of Elizabeth, has there been so great a number of 
men eminent at once in literature and in the pursuits of 
active life, as Spain produced during the sixteenth century. 
Almost every distinguished writer was also distinguished as 
a soldier or politician. Boscan bore arms with high repu- 
tation. Garcilaso de Vega, the author of the sweetest and 
most graceful pastoral poem of modern times, after a short 
but splendid mihtary career, fell sword in hand at the head 
of a storming party. Alonzo de Ercilla bore a conspicuous 
part in that war of Arauco, which he afterwards celebrated 
in one of the best heroic poems that Spain has produced. 
Hurtado de Mendoza, whose poems have been compared to 
those of Horace, and whose charming little novel is evi- 
dently the model of Gil Bias, has been handed down to us 
by history as one of the sternest of those iron proconsuls 
who were employed by the House of Austria to crush 
the lingering public spirit of Italy. Lope sailed in the 
Armada; Cervantes ^ was wounded at Lepanto.^ 

It is curious to consider with how much awe our ancestors 
in those times regarded a Spaniard. He was, in their ap- 
prehension, a kind of daemon, horribly malevolent, but 
withal most sagacious and powerful. " They be verye wyse 
and politicke,'' says an honest Englishman, in a memorial 
addressed to Mary, " and can, thorowe ther wysdome, re- 
form and brydell theyr owne natures for a tyme, and applye 
their conditions to the maners of those men with whom 

'■^ The author of "Don Quixote.^'' ^ Philips s fleet, with 

the Venetians, overthrew the Turks at Lepanto. 



68 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

they meddell gladlye by friendshippe ; whose mischievous 
raaners a man shall never knowe untyll he come under ther 
subjection ; but then shall he parfectlye parceyve and fele 
them : which thynge I praye God England never do : for in 
dissimulations untyll they have ther purposes, and after- 
wards in oppression and tyrannye, when they can obtayne 
them, they do exceed all other nations upon the earthe." 
This is just such language as Arminius* would have used 
about the Romans, or as an Indian statesman of our times 
might use about the English. It is the language of a man 
burning with hatred, but cowed by those whom he hates ; 
and painfully sensible of their superiority, not only in power, 
but in intelligence. 

XIV. 

RALEIGH AND VIRGINIA 

BANCROFT. 

[While men like Drake were challenging Spain upon the 
. seas, wiser and nobler Englishmen were striving to plant 
■ colonies which should make the New World English 
instead of Spanish ground. Of these the chief were Sir 
Humphry Gilbert and Sir W^alter Raleigh. Unsuccessful 
as they were, it was through their efforts that the first 
settlements were founded, which have since grown into 
the United States of North America.] 

While the Queen and her adventurers were dazzled by 
dreams of finding gold in the frozen regions of the north,i 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert, with a sounder judgment and better 
knowledge, watched the progress of the fisheries,^ and formed 
healthy plans for colonisation. He had been a soldier and 

^ ArmzHiKS headed the resistance of the Germans to Rome. 

^ Frobisher and other adventm-ers had hoped to find gold in 
Labrador, ^ Of Newfound latid ajid the North American 

coast. 



RALEIGH AND VIRGINIA, 69 

a member of parliament ; had written judiciously on naviga- 
tion ; and, though censured for his ignorance of the principles 
of liberty, was esteemed for the sincerity of his piety. Free 
alike from fickleness and fear, danger never turned him 
aside from the pursuit of honour or the service of his sovereign ; 
for he knew that death is inevitable, and the fame of virtue 
immortal. It was not difficult for him in June, 1578, to ob- 
tain a patent, formed according to the commercial theories 
of that day, and to be of perpetual efficacy, if a plantation 
should be established within six years. To the people who 
might belong to his colony, the rights of Englishmen were 
promised ; to Gilbert, the possession for himself or his 
assigns of the soil which he might discover, and the sole 
jurisdiction, both civil and criminal, of the territory within 
two hundred leagues of his settlement, with supreme 
executive and legislative authority. Under this patent, 
Gilbert collected a company of volunteer adventurers, con 
tributing largely from his own fortune to the preparations. 
Jarrings and divisions ensued, before the voyage was begun ; 
many abandoned what they had inconsiderately undertaken ; 
in 1579, the general and a few of his assured friends — 
among them, his step-brother, Walter Raleigh — put to sea : 
one of his ships was lost ; and misfortune compelled the 
remainder to return. Gilbert attempted to keep his patent 
alive by making grants of land: none of his assigns suc- 
ceeded in estabHshing a colony; and he was himself too 
much impoverished to renew his efforts. 

But the pupil of Coligny^ delighted in hazardous adventure. 
To prosecute discoveries in the New World, lay the founda- 
tion of states, and acquire immense domains, appeared to 
Raleigh an easy design, which would not interfere with the 

^ Sir Walter Raleigh, ivJio had served nnder the Huguenot 
general Coligny in the French wars of religion. He was 
Gilbert's half-brother. 



70 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

pursuit of favour in England. Before the limit of the 
charter had expired, Gilbert, assisted by his brother, 
equipped a new squadron. In 1583 the fleet embarked 
under happy omens; the commander, on the eve of his 
departure, received from Elizabeth, as a token of regard, a 
golden anchor guided by a lady. A man of letters from 
Hungary accompanied the expedition; and some part of 
the United States would have then been colonised but for 
a succession of overwhelming disasters. Two days after 
leaving Plymouth the largest ship in the fleet, vWiich had 
been furnished by Raleigh, who himself remained in England, 
deserted under a pretence of infectious disease, and returned 
into harbour. Gilbert, incensed but not intimidated, sailed 
for Newfoundland; and, in August, entering St. John's, 
he summoned the Spaniards and Portuguese,* and other 
strangers, to witness the ceremonies by which he took 
possession of the country for his sovereign. A pillar, on 
which the arms of England were infixed, was raised as a 
monument ; the lands were granted to the fishermen in fee, 
on condition of the payment of a quit-rent. It was generally 
agreed that ''the mountains made a show of mineral sub- 
stance;" the "mineral-man" of the expedition, an honest and 
religious Saxon, protested on his life that silver ore abounded. 
He was charged to keep the discovery a profound secret ; 
and the precious ore was carried on board the larger ship 
with such mystery that the dull Portuguese and Spaniards 
suspected nothing of the matter. 

It was not easy for Gilbert to preserve order in the little 
fleet. Many of the mariners, infected with the vices which 
at that time degraded their profession, were no better than 
pirates, and were perpetually bent upon pillaging whatever 
ships fell in their way. At length, having abandoned one 

* The Spaniards and Portuguese claifned all the New World 
for their own. 



RALEIGH AND VIRGINIA. 71 

of their barks, the EngHsh, now m three vessels only, sailed 
on further discoveries, intending to visit the coast of the 
United States. But they had not proceeded towards the 
south beyond the latitude of Wiscasset, when the largest 
ship, from the carelessness of the crew, struck and was 
wrecked. Nearly a hundred men perished ; the ''mineral- 
man " and the ore were all lost ; nor was it possible to 
rescue Parmenius, the Hungarian scholar, who should have 
been the historian of the expedition. It now seemed neces- 
sary to hasten to England. Gilbert had sailed in the Squirrel^ 
a bark of ten tons only, and therefore convenient for entering 
harbours and approaching the coast. On the homeward 
voyage, he would not forsake his little company, with whom 
he had encountered so many storms and perils. A desperate 
resolution ! The weather was extremely rough ; the oldest 
mariner had never seen " more outrageous seas." The little 
frigate, not more than twice as large as the long-boat of a 
merchantman, " too small a bark to pass through the ocean 
sea at that season of the year," was nearly wrecked. That 
same night about twelve o'clock its lights suddenly disap 
peared; and neither the vessel nor any of the crew was 
ever again seen. The Hind reached Falmouth in safety. 

Raleigh, not disheartened by the sad fate of his step- 
brother, revolved a settlement in the milder clime from which 
the Protestants of France had been expelled. He readily 
obtained from Elizabeth, in March, 1584, a patent as ample 
as that which had been conferred on Gilbert. It was drawn 
according to the principles of feudal law, and with strict 
regard to the Christian faith, as professed in the church of 
England. Raleigh was constituted a lord proprietary, with 
almost unlimited powers ; holding his territories by homage 
and an inconsiderable rent, and possessing jurisdiction over 
an extensive region, of which he had power to make grants 
according to his pleasure. Expectations rose high, since the 



72 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

balmy regions of the south were now to be colonised. Two 
vessels, well laden with men and provisions, under the com- 
mand of Philip Amidas and Arthur Barlow, buoyant with 
hope, set sail for the New World. They pursued the circui 
tOus route by the Canaries and the islands of the West Indies ; 
after a short stay at those islands, they sailed for the north, 
and were soon opposite the shores of Carolina. As in July 
they drew near land, the fragrance was " as if they had been 
in the midst of some delicate garden, abounding with all 
kinds of odoriferous flowers." Ranging the coast for one 
hundred and twenty i^iiles, they entered the first convenient 
harbour, and, after thanks to God for their safe arrival, they 
took possession of the country for the Queen of England. 

The spot on which this ceremony was performed was in 
the island of Wocoken, the southernmost of the islands 
forming Ocracoke Inlet. The shores of North Carolina, at 
some periods of the year, cannot safely be approached by a 
fleet, from the hurricanes against which the formation of the 
coast offers no secure roadsteads and harbours. But in the 
month of July the air was agitated by none but the gentlest 
breezes, and the English commanders were in raptures with 
the beauty of the ocean, seen in the magnificence of repose, 
gemmed with islands, and expanding in the clearest trans- 
parency from cape to cape. The vegetation of that southern 
latitude struck the beholders with admiration ; the trees had 
not their paragons ; luxuriant climbers gracefully festooned 
the loftiest cedars ; wild grapes abounded ; and natural ar- 
bours formed an impervious shade, that not a ray of the suns 
of July could penetrate. The forests were filled with birds ; 
and, at the discharge of an arquebuse, whole flocks would arise, 
uttering a cry, as if an army of men had shouted together. 

The gentleness of the tawny inhabitants^ appeared in 
narmony with the loveliness of the scene. The desire of 
^ The Indians of North A?ne7ica. 



RALEIGH AND VIRGINIA. 73 

traffic overcame their timidity, and the English received a 
friendly welcome. On the island of Roanoke, they were en- 
tertained by the wife of Granganimeo, father of Wingina, 
the king, with the refinements of Arcadian hospitaUty. 
" The people were most gentle, loving and faithful, void of 
all guile and treason, and such as lived after the manner of 
the golden age." They had no cares but to guard against 
the moderate cold of a short winter, and to gather such food 
as the earth almost spontaneously produced. And yet it 
was added, with singular want of comparison, that the wars 
of these guileless men were cruel and bloody; that domestic 
dissensions had almost exterminated whole tribes ; that they 
employed the basest stratagems against their enemies ; and 
that the practice of inviting men to a feast, to murder them 
in the hour of confidence, was not exclusively a device of 
European bigots, but was known to the natives of Secotan. 
The English, too, were solicited to engage in a similar 
enterprise under promise of lucrative booty. 

The adventurers were satisfied with observing the general 
aspect of the New World ; no extensive examination of the 
coast was undertaken ; Pamlico and Albemarle Sound and 
Roanoke Island were explored, and some information 
gathered by inquiries from the Indians ; the commanders 
had not the courage or the activity to survey the country 
with exactness. Having made but a short stay in America, 
they arrived in September in the west of England, accom- 
panied by Manteo and Wanchese, two natives of the 
wilderness ; and the returning voyagers gave such glowing 
descriptions of their discoveries as might be expected from 
men who had done no more than sail over the smooth 
waters of a summer's sea, among " the hundred islands " of 
North Carolina. Elizabeth esteemed her reign signalized 
by the discovery of the enchanting regions, and, as a 
memorial of her state of life, named them Virginia. 



74 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

XV. 

THE FIRST DAY'S FIGHT WITH THE ARMADA. 
MOTLEY. 

[Philip at last resolved to make an effort for the conquest 
of England, and gathered a great fleet in the Tagus, and 
an army in Flanders, for that purpose. The Armada, as 
the fleet was called, was ordered to sail through the 
Channel to the Flemish coast to join the army there, and 
protect its crossing to England. After long delays the 
Spaniards put to sea, and the vast armament entered the 
Channel.] 

On Friday, the 29th of July, 1588, off the Lizard, the 
Spaniards had their first glimpse of the land of promise 
presented them by Sixtus V.,^ of which they had at last 
come to take possession. On the same day and night the 
blaze and smoke of ten thousand beacon-fires from the 
Land's End to Margate, and from the Isle of Wight to 
Cumberland, gave warning to every Englishman that the 
enemy was at last upon them. Almost at that very instant 
intelligence had been brought from the court to the Lord- 
Admiral ^ at Plymouth, that the Armada, dispersed and 
shattered by the gales of June, was not likely to make its 
appearance that year; and orders had consequently been 
given to disarm the four largest ships and send them into 
dock. Even the shrewd Walsingham ^ had participated 
in this strange delusion. Before Howard had time \o 
act upon this ill-timed suggestion — even had he been dis- 
posed to do so — he received authentic intelligence that the 

^ T/ie Pope^ who had aided the enterprise^ and p7'07nised it 
success. ^ Lord Howard of Effingham, whose fleet lay at 

Plyjnouth. With hint were D7'akej Frobisher, and other great 
seamen. ^ Elizabeth's foreign secretary. 



THE FIRST DAY'S FIGHT WITH THE ARMADA. 75 

great fleet was off the Lizard. Neither he nor Francis 
Drake were the men to lose time in such an emergency, 
and before that Friday night was spent, sixty of the best 
EngUsh ships had been warped out of Plymouth harbour. 

On Saturday, 30th July, the wind was very light at south- 
west, with a mist and drizzling rain, but by three in the 
afternoon the two fleets could descry and count each other 
through the haze. 

By nine o'clock, 31st July, about two miles from Looe, on 
the Cornish coast, the fleets had their meeting. There were 
136 sail of the Spaniards, of which ninety were large ships, 
and sixty-seven of the English. It was a solemn moment. 
The long-expected Armada presented a pompous, almost 
a theatrical appearance. The ships seemed arranged for a 
pageant in honour of a victory already won. Disposed in 
form of a crescent, the horns of which were seven miles 
asunder, those gilded, towered, floating castles, with their 
gaudy standards and their martial music, moved slowly 
along the Channel with an air of indolent pomp. Their 
captain-general, the Golden Duke,* stood in his private shot- 
proof fortress on thedeck of his great galleon the Saint Martin, 
surrounded by generals of infantry and colonels of cavalry, 
who knew as little as he did himself of naval matters. The 
EngUsh vessels, on the other hand — with a few exceptions, 
light, swift, and easily handled — could sail'round and round 
those unwieldy galleons, hulks, and galleys rowed by fettered 
slave-gangs. The superior seamanship of free Englishmen, 
commanded by such experienced captains as Drake, Fro- 
bisher, and Hawkins — from infancy at home on blue water 
— was manifest in the very first encounter. They obtained 
the weather-gage at once, and cannonaded the enemy at 
intervals with considerable effect, easily escaping at will out 
of range of the sluggish Armada, which was incapable of 
"* The Duke of Medina-Sidonia, who commanded the Armada. 



16 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

bearing sail iu pursuit, although provided with an armament 
which could sink all its enemies at close quarters. " We 
had some small fight with them that Sunday afternoon," 
said Hawkins. 

Medina-Sidonia hoisted the royal standard at the fore, 
and the whole fleet did its utmost, which was little, to offer 
general battle. It was in vain. The English, following- at 
the heels of the enemy, refused all such invitations, and at- 
tacked only the rear-guard of the Armada, where Recalde 
commanded. That admiral, steadily maintaining his post, 
faced his nimble antagonists, who continued to teaze, to 
maltreat, and to elude him, while the rest of the fleet pro- 
ceeded slowly up the Channel, closely followed by the 
enemy. And thus the running fight continued along the 
coast, in full view of Plymouth, whence boats with reinforce- 
ments and volunteers were perpetually arriving to the English 
ships, until the battle had drifted quite out of reach of 
the town. 

Already in this first " small fight '^ the Spaniards had 
learned a l€sson, and might even entertain a doubt of their 
invincibility. But before the sun set there were more serious 
disasters. Much powder and shot had been expended by the 
Spaniards to very little purpose, and so a master-gunner on 
board Admiral Oquendo's flag-ship was reprimanded for 
careless ball-practice. The gunner, who was a Fleming, 
enraged with his captain, laid a train to the powder-magazine, 
fired it, and threw himself into the sea. The two decks 
blew up. The great castle at the stern rose into the clouds, 
carrying with it the paymaster-general of the fleet, a large 
portion of treasure, and nearly two hundred men. The 
ship was a wreck, but it was possible to save the rest of the 
crew. So Medina-Sidonia sent light vessels to remove 
them, and wore with his flagship to defend Oquendo, who 
had already been fastened upon by his English pursuers. But 



THE FIRST DAY'S FIGHT WITH THE ARMADA. 77 

the Spaniards, not being so light in hand as their enemies 
involved themselves in much embarrassment by this ma 
noeuvre ; and there was much falling foul of each other, 
entanglement of rigging, and carrying away of yards. 
Oquendo's men, however, were ultimately saved, and taken 
to other ships. 

Meantime Don Pedro de Valdez, commander of the 
Andalusian squadron, having got his galleon into collision 
with two or three Spanish ships successively, had at last 
carried away his fore-mast close to the deck, and the wreck 
had fallen against his main-mast. He lay crippled and 
helpless, the Armada was slowly deserting him, night was 
coming on, the sea was running high, and the English, ever 
hovering near, were ready to grapple with him. In vain did 
Don Pedro fire signals of distress. The captain-general — 
even as though the unlucky galleon had not been connected 
with the Catholic fleet — calmly fired a gun to collect his 
scattered ships, and abandoned Valdez to his fate. " He 
left me comfortless in sight of the whole fleet," said poor 
Pedro, '^ and greater inhumanity and unthankfulness I think 
was never heard of among men." 

Yet the Spaniard comported himself most gallantly. 
Frobisher, in the largest ship of the English fleet, the 
T7'iumph, of iioo tons, and Hawkins in the Victory, of 
800, cannonaded him at a distance, but, night coming on, 
he was able to resist ; and it was not till the following 
morning that he surrendered to the Revenge. 

Drake then received the gallant prisoner on board his 
flagship — much to the disgust and indignation of Frobisher 
and Hawkins, thus disappointed of their prize and ransom- 
money — treated him with much courtesy, and gave his word 
of honour that he and his men should be treated fairly, like 
good prisoners of war. This pledge was redeemed, for it was 
not the English, as it was the Spanish custom, to convert 
11 



78 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

captives into slaves, but only to hold them for ransom. 
Valdez responded to Drake's politeness by kissing his hand, 
embracing him, and overpowering him with magnificent com- 
pliments. He was then sent on board the Lord-Admiral, 
who received him with similar urbanity, and expressed his 
regret that so distinguished a personage should have been so 
coolly deserted by the Duke of Medina. Don Pedro then 
returned to the Revenge^ where, as the guest of Drake, he 
was a witness to all subsequent events up to the loth of 
August, on which day he was sent to London with some 
other officers. Sir Francis claiming his ransom as his 
lawful due. 

Here certainly was no very triumphant beginning for the 
Invincible Armada. On the very first day of their being 
in presence of the English fleet — then but sixty- seven in 
number, and vastly their inferior in size and weight of 
metal — they had lost the flagships of the Guipuzcoan and 
of the Andalusian squadrons, with a general -admiral, 450 
officers and men, and some 100,000 ducats of treasure. 
They had been out-manoeuvred, out-sailed, and thoroughly 
maltreated by their antagonists, and they had been unable 
to inflict a single blow in return. 



XVI. 

THE LAST DAY'S FIGHT WITH THE ARMADA. 

MOTLEY. 

[Throughout a whole week the running fight went on, the 
Armada slowly making its way along the Channel, the 
English ships hanging on its rear. Many Spanish ships 
were sunk or taken ; but the great fleet still remained for- 
midable when, in spite of its enemies, it at last reached 



THE LAST DAY'S FIGHT WITH THE ARMADA. 79 

the Flemish coast. If it was to be prevented from em- 
barking the army which was destined for the invasion of 
England, a great engagement was now necessary; and 
the English seamen resolved to engage.] 

The Lord-Admiral, who had been lying off and on, now 
bore away with all his force in pursuit of the Spaniards. 
The Invincible Armada, already sorely crippled, was stand- 
ing N.N.E. directly before a fresh topsail breeze from the 
s.s.w. The English came up with them soon after nine 
o'clock A.M. off Gravelines, and found them sailing in a 
half-moon, the admiral and vice-admiral in the centre, and 
the flanks protected by the three remaining galeasses and 
by the great galleons of Portugal. 

Seeing the enemy approaching, Medina Sidonia ordered 
his v/hole fleet to luff to the wind, and prepare for action. 
The wind, shifting a few points, was now at w.n.w., so that 
the English had both the weather-gage and the tide in their 
favour. A general combat began at about ten, and it was 
soon obvious to the Spaniards that their adversaries were 
intending warm work. Sir Francis Drake in the Revenge, 
followed by Frobisher in the Triumph, Hawkins in the 
Victory, and some smaller vessels, made the first attack 
upon the Spanish flagships. Lord Henry in the Rainbow, 
Sir Henry Palmer in the Antelope, and others, engaged with 
three of the largest galleons of the Armada, while Sir 
William Winter in the Va7iguard, supported by most of his 
squadron, charged the starboard wing. 

The portion of the fleet thus assaulted fell back into the 
main body. Four of the ships ran foul of each other, and 
Winter, driving into their centre, found himself within 
musket-shot of many of their most formidable ships. 

" I tell you, on the credit of a poor gentleman," he said, 
" that there were five hundred discharges of demi-cannon, 
culverin, and demi-culverin, from the Vanguard; and when 



So PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

I was farthest off in firing my pieces, I was not out of shot 
of their harquebus, and most time within speech, one of 
another." 

The battle lasted six hours long, hot and furious ; for now 
there was no excuse for retreat on the part of the Spaniards, 
but, on the contrary, it was the intention of the Captain- 
General to return to his station off Calais,^ if it were within 
his power. Nevertheless the English still partially main- 
tained the tactics which had proved so successful, and reso- 
lutely refused the fierce attempts of the Spaniards to lay 
themselves alongside. Keeping within musket-range, the 
well-disciplined English mariners poured broadside after 
broadside against the towering ships of the Armada, which 
afforded so easy a mark ; while the Spaniards, on their part, 
found it impossible, while wasting incredible quantities of 
powder and shot, to inflict any severe damage on their 
enemies. Throughout the action, not an English ship was 
destroyed, and not a hundred men were killed. On the 
other hand, all the best ships of the Spaniards were riddled 
through and through, and with masts and yards shattered, 
sails and rigging torn to shreds, and a north-west wind still 
drifting them towards the fatal sandbanks of Holland, they 
laboured heavily in a chopping sea, firing wildly, and re- 
ceiving tremendous punishment at the hands of Howard, 
Drake, Seymour, Winter, and their followers. Not even 
master-gunner Thomas could complain that day of " blind, 
exercise " on the part of the English, with " little harm done " 
to the enemy. There was scarcely a ship in the Armada 
that did not suffer severely; for nearly all were engaged 
in that memorable action off the sands of Gravelines. 
The Captain-General himself, Admiral Recalde, Alonzo 
de Leyva, Oquendo, Diego Flores de Valdez, Bertendona, 

^ From 'which he had been driven the day before by English 
fire-ships. 



THE LAST DAY'S FIGHT WITH THE ARMADA. 8i 

Don Francisco de Toledo, Don Diego de Pimentel, Telles 
Enriquez, Alonzo de Luzon, Garibay, with most of the great 
galleons and galeasses, were in the thickest of the fight, 
and one after the other each of those huge ships was 
disabled. Three sank before the fight was over, many 
others were soon drifting helpless wrecks towards a hostile 
shore, and, before five o'clock in the afternoon, at least 
sixteen of their best ships had been sacrificed, and from 
four to five thousand soldiers killed. 

Nearly all the largest vessels of the Armada, therefore, 
having been disabled or damaged — according to a Spanish 
eye-witness —and all their small shot exhausted, Medina 
Sidonia reluctantly gave orders to retreat. The Captain- 
General was a bad sailor, but he was a chivalrous Spaniard 
of ancient Gothic blood, and he felt deep mortification at 
the plight of his invincible fleet, together with undisguised 
resentment against Alexander Farnese,^ through whose 
treachery and incapacity he considered the great Catholic 
cause to have been so foully sacrificed. Crippled, maltrea- 
ted, and diminished in number, as were his ships, he would 
have still faced the enemy, but the winds and currents were 
fast driving him on the lee-shore, and the pilots, one and 
all, assured him that it would be inevitable destruction to 
remain. After a slight and very ineffectual attempt to rescue 
Don Diego de Pimentel in the Sf. MaWieiu — who refused 
to leave his disabled ship — and Don Francisco de Toledo, 
whose great galleon, the St. Philip, was fast driving, a help- 
less wreck, towards Zeeland, the Armada bore away n.n.e. 
into the open sea, leaving those who could not follow to 
their fate. 

The St. Matt/ieiv, in a sinking condition, hailed a Dutch 
fisherman, who was offered a gold chain to pilot her into 

2 T/ie Prince of P anna, who commanded the Spanish ar7ny in 
Flanders, and iviio had not succeeded inJoi?iing the Armada. 



S2 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Newport. But the fisherman, being a patriot, steered her 
close to the Holland fleet, where she was immediately 
assaulted by Admiral Van der Does, to whom, after a two 
hours' bloody fight, she struck her flag. Don Diego, marshal 
of the camp to the famous legion of Sicily, brother of the 
Marquis of Tavera, nephew of the Viceroy of Sicily, uncle 
to the Viceroy of Naples, and numbering as many titles, 
dignities, and high affinities, as could be expected of a 
grandee of the first class, was taken, with his officers, to the 
Hague. " I was the means," said Captain Borlase, " that 
the best sort were saved, and the rest were cast overboard 
and slain at our entry. He fought with us two hours, and 
hurt divers of our men, but at last yielded." 

John Van der Does, his captor, presented the banner of 
the St Matthew to the great church of Leyden, where — 
such was its prodigious length — it hung from ceiling to floor 
without being entirely unrolled; and there it hung, from 
generation to generation, a worthy companion to the Spanish 
flags which had been left behind when Valdez abandoned 
the siege of that heroic city fifteen years before. 

The galleon St. Philips one of the four largest ships in the 
Armada, dismasted and foundering, drifted towards Newport, 
where camp-marshal Don Francisco de Toledo hoped in 
vain for succour. La Motte made a feeble attempt at rescue, 
but some vessels from the Holland fleet, being much more 
active, seized the unfortunate galieon, and carried her into 
Flushing. The captors found forty-eight brass cannon and 
other things of value on board, but there were some casks 
of Ribadavia wine which was more fatal to her enemies than 
those pieces of artillery had proved. For while the rebels 
were refreshing themselves, after the fatigues of the capture, 
with large draughts of that famous vintage, the St. Philip, 
which had been bored through and through with English 
shot, and had been rapidly filling with water, gave a suddea 



THE LAST DAY'S FIGHT WITH THE ARMADA. 83 

lurch, and went down in a moment, carrying with her to the 
bottom three hundred of those convivial Hollanders. 

A large Biscay galleon, too, of Recalde's squadron, much 
disabled in action, and now, like many others, unable to 
follow the Armada, was summoned by Captain Cross, of the 
Hope, forty-eight guns, to surrender. Although foundering, 
she resisted, and refused to strike her flag. One of her 
officers attempted to haul down her colours, and was run 
through the body by the captain, who, in his turn, was 
struck dead by a brother of the officer thus slain. In the 
midst of this quarrel the ship went down with all her 
crew. 

Six hours and more, from ten till nearly five, the fight had 
lasted — a most cruel battle, as the Spaniards declared. 
There were men in the Armada who had served in the 
action of Lepanto, and who declared that famous encounter 
to have been far surpassed in severity and spirit by this fight 
off Gravelines. " Surely every man in our fleet did well," 
said Winter, ''and the slaughter the enemy received was 
great." Nor would the Spaniards have escaped even worse 
punishment, had not, most unfortunately, the penurious 
policy of the Queen's government rendered her ships useless 
at last, even in this supreme moment. They never ceased 
cannonading the discomfited enemy until the ammunition 
was exhausted. " When the cartridges were all spent," said 
Winter, "and the munitions in some vessels gone altogether, 
we ceased fighting, but followed the enemy, who still kept 
away." And the enemy — although still numerous, and 
seeming strong enough, if properly handled, to destroy the 
whole English fleet — fled before them. There remained 
more than fifty Spanish vessels, above six hundred tons in 
size, besides sixty hulks and other vessels of less account ; 
while in the whole English navy were but thirteen ships of 
or above that burthen. '' Their force is wonderful great and 



64 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

strong/' said Howard, '' but we pluck their feathers by little 
and little." 

For Medina-Sidonia had now satisfied himself that he 
should never succeed in boarding those hard-fighting and 
swift-sailing craft, while, meantime, the horrible panic of 
Sunday night and the succession of fights throughout the 
following day, had completely disorganised his followers. 
Crippled, riddled, shorn, but still numerous, and by no 
means entirely vanquished, the Armada was flying with a 
gentle breeze before an enemy who, to save his existence, 
could not have fired a broadside. 



XVII. 

SHAKSPERE'S EARLY LIFE. 

GREEN. 

[While England was thus struggling with Spain, it was 
winning an even greater glory in letters. Great writers 
appeared both in prose and poetry ; and more than fifty 
dramatists wrote plays, wiiich gave life to the English 
stage. Of these the foremost was William Shakspere.] 

Of hardly any great poet indeed do w^e know so little. For 
the story of Shakspere's youth we have only one or two 
trifling legends, and these almost certainly false. Not a 
single letter or characteristic saying, not one of the jests 
" spoken at the Mermaid," ^ hardly a single anecdote, remain 
to illustrate his busy life in London. His look and figure in 
later age have been preserved by the bust over his tomb at 
Stratford, and a hundred years after his death he was still 
remembered in his native town ; but the minute diligence 

^ T/ie Merfuaid Inn in Bread Street, Cheapside, iuhe?'e the 
poets met together. 



SHAKSPERE'S EARLY LIFE. 85 

of later inquirers was able to glean hardly a single detail, even 
of the most trivial order, which could throw light upon the 
years of retirement before his death. It is owing perhaps to 
the harmony and unity of Shakspere's temper that no salient 
peculiarity seems to have left its trace on the memory of his 
contemporaries ; it is the very grandeur of his genius which 
precludes us from discovering any personal trait in his works. 
His supposed self-revelation in the Sonnets is so obscure 
that only a few outlines can be traced even by the boldest 
conjecture. In his dramas he is all his characters, and his 
characters range over all mankind. There is not one, or 
the act or word of one, that we can identify personally with 
the poet himself. 

He was born in 1564, the sixth year of Elizabeth's reign, 
twelve years after the birth of Spenser, three years later than 
the birth of Bacon. Marlowe was of the same age with 
Shakspere : Greene probably a few years older.^ His father, 
a glover and small farmer of Stratford-on-Avon, was forced 
by poverty to lay down his office of alderman as his son 
reached boyhood ; and stress of poverty may have been the 
cause which drove William Shakspere, who had already 
wedded at eighteen a wife older than himself, to London 
and the stage. His life in the capital can hardly have 
begun later than in his twenty-third year, the memorable 
year which preceded the coming of the Armada, and which 
witnessed the production of Marlowe's " Tamburlaine." If 
we take the language of the Sonnets as a record of his per- 
sonal feeling, his new profession as an actor stirred in him 
only the bitterness of self-contempt. He chides with Fortune 
" that did not better for my life provide than public means 
that public manners breed; " he writhes at the thought that 
he has " made himself a motley to the view " of the gaping 

^ Marlowe gave the first gi'eat impulse to English tragedy ; 
Greene to English comedy. 
11* 



86 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

apprentices in the pit of Blackfriars. " Thence comes it," he 
adds, *'that my name receives a brand, and almost thence my 
nature is subdued to that it works in." But the appHcation of 
the words is a more than doubtful one. In spite of petty 
squabbles with som.e of his dramatic rivals at the outset of his 
career, the genial nature of the newcomer seems to have won 
him a general love among his fellows. In 1592, while still 
a mere actor and fitter of old plays for the stage, a fellow - 
play^vright, Chettle, answered Greene's attack on him in 
words of honest affection : " Myself have seen his de- 
meanour no less civil than he excellent in the quality he 
professes : besides, divers of worship have reported his 
uprightness of dealing, which argues his honesty, and his 
facetious grace in writing, that approves his art." His 
partner Burbage spoke of him after death as a "worthy 
friend and fellow ; " and Jonson handed down the general 
tradition of his time when he described him as " indeed 
honest, and of an open and free nature." 

His profession as an actor was at any rate of essential 
service to him in the poetic career which he soon undertook. 
Not only did it give him the sense of theatrical necessities 
which makes his plays so effective on the boards, but it 
enabled him to bring his pieces as he wrote them to the test 
of the stage. If there is any truth in Jonson's statement 
that Shakspere never blotted a line, there is no justice in the 
censure which it implies on his carelessness or incorrectness. 
The conditions of poetic publication were in fact wholly 
different from those of our own day. A drama remained 
for years in manuscript as an acting piece, subject to con- 
tinual revision and amendment ; and every rehearsal and 
representation afforded hints for change which we know the 
young poet was far from neglecting. The chance which 
has preserved an earlier edition of his " Hamlet " shows in 
what an unsparing way Shakspere could recast even the 



SHAKSPERE'S EARLY LIFE. 87 

finest products of his genius. Five years after the supposed 
date of his arrival in London he was already famous as a 
dramatist. Greene speaks bitterly of him under the name 
of '' Shakescene " as an "upstart crow beautified with our 
feathers," a sneer which points either to his celebrity as an 
actor or to his preparation for loftier flights by fitting pieces 
of his predecessors for the stage. He was soon partner in 
the theatre, actor, and playwright ; and another nickname, 
that of '* Johannes Factotum" or Jack-of-all-Trades, shows 
his readiness to take all honest work which came to hand. 

With his pubhcation in 1593 of the poem of "Venus and 
Adonis," " the first heir of my invention " as Shakspere calls 
it, the period of independent creation fairly began. The 
date of its publication was a very memorable one. The 
" Faerie Queen " had appeared only three years before, and 
had placed Spenser without a rival at the head of English 
poetry. On the other hand the two leading dramatists of 
the time passed at this moment suddenly away. Greene 
died in poverty and self-reproach in the house of a poor 
shoemaker. " Doll," he wrote to the wife he had abandoned, 
" I charge thee, by the love of our youth and by ray soul's 
rest, that thou wilt see this man paid ; for if he and his wife 
had not succoured me I had died in the streets." " Oh 
that a year were granted me to live," cried the young poet 
from his bed of death, "but I must die, of every man 
abhorred ! Time, loosely spent, will not again be won ! 
My time is loosely spent — and I undone ! " A year later 
the death of Marlowe in a street brawl removed the only 
rival whose powers might have equalled Shakspere's own. 
He was now about thirty ; and the twenty-three years which 
elapsed between the appearance of the " Adonis " and his 
death were filled with a series of masterpieces. Nothing is 
more characteristic of his genius than its incessant activity. 
Through the five years which followed the publication of his 



88 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

early poem he seems to have produced on an average two 
dramas a year. When we attempt however to trace the 
growth and progress of the poet's mind in the order of his 
plays we are met in the case of many of them by an absence 
of certain information as to the dates of their appearance. 
The facts on which inquiry has to build ,are extremely few. 
" Venus and Adonis," with the " Lucrece," must have been 
written before their publication in 1593-4; the Sonnets, 
though not published till 1609, were known in some form 
among his private friends as early as 1598. His earlier 
plays are defined by a list given in the "Witt's Treasury " 
of Francis Meres in 1598, though the omission of a play 
from a casual catalogue of this kind would hardly warrant 
us in assuming its necessary non-existence at the time. The 
works ascribed to him at his death are fixed in the same 
approximate fashion through the edition pubHshed by his 
fellow-actors. Beyond these meagre facts and our know- 
ledge of the publication of a few of his dramas in his life- 
time all is uncertain ; and the conclusions which have been 
drawn from these, and from the dramas themselves, as well 
as from assumed resemblances with, or reference to, other 
plays of the period, can only be accepted as approximations 
to the truth. 

The bulk of his lighter comedies and historical dramas 
can be assigned with fair probability to a period from about 
1593, when Shakspere was known as nothing more than an 
adapter, to 1598, when they are mentioned in the list of 
Meres. They bear on them indeed the stamp of youth. 
In " Love's Labour's Lost " the young playwright, fresh 
from his own Stratford, its " daisies pied and violets blue," 
with the gay bright music of its country ditties still in his 
ears, flings himself into the midst of the brilliant England 
which gathered round Elizabeth, busying himself as yet for 
the most part with the surface of it, with the humours and 



SHAKSPERE'S EARLY LIFE. Sg 

quixotisms, the whit and the whim, the unreaHty, the fan- 
tastic extravagance, which veiled its inner nobleness. 
Country-lad as he is, Shakspere shows himself master of 
it all ; he can patter euphuism and exchange quip and 
repartee with the best ; he is at home in their pedantries 
and affectations, their brag and their rhetoric, their passion 
for the fantastic and the marvellous. He can laugh as 
heartily at the romantic vagaries of the courtly world in 
which he finds himself as at the narrow dulness, the 
pompous triflings, of the country world which he has left 
behind him. But he laughs frankly and without malice ; 
he sees the real grandeur of soul which underlies all this 
quixotry and word-play ; and owns with a smile that 
when brought face to face with the facts of human life, 
with the suffering of man or the danger of England, 
these fops have in them the stuff of heroes. He 
shares the delight in existence, the pleasure in sheer 
living, which was so marked a feature of the age ; he 
enjoys the mistakes, the contrasts, the adventures, of the 
men about him ; his fun breaks almost riotously out in the 
pracdcal jokes of the " Taming of the Shrew " and the 
endless blunderings of the " Comedy of Errors." In these 
earlier efforts his work had been marked by little poetic 
elevation, or by passion. But the easy grace of the dialogue, 
the dexterous management of a complicated story, the 
genial gaiety of his tone and the music of his verse, 
promised a master of social comedy as soon as Shakspere 
turned from the superficial aspects of the world about him 
to find a new delight in the character and actions of men. 
The interest of human character was still fresh and vivid ; 
the sense of individuality drew a charm from its novelty ; 
and poet and essayist were busy adike in sketching the 
"humours" of mankind. Shakspere sketched with his 
fellows. In the " Two Gentlemen of Verona " his painting 



go TROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

of manners was suffused by a tenderness and ideal beauty 
which formed an effective protest against the hard though 
vigorous character-painting which the first success of Ben 
Jonson in " Every Man in his Humour " brought at the 
time into fashion. But quick on these lighter comedies 
followed two in which his genius started fully into life. 
His poetic power, held in reserve till now, showed itself 
with a splendid profusion in the brilliant fancies of the 
" Midsummer Night's Dream ; " and passion swept like a 
tide of resistless delight through " Romeo and Juliet." 



XVIII. 
THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 

BANCROFT. 

[The reign of Elizabeth was followed by that of a very 
different ruler. James the First broke with English reli- 
gion, quarrelled with the Parliament, and sowed the first 
seeds of the strife between king and people which was to 
end in the Great Rebellion. His persecution however 
of those who would not conform to the Church and its 
worship brought about a great result. It drove some of 
them to the New World ; and their foundation of the 
colonies of New England moulded for good the destinies 
of the United States.] 

In the opening of the reign of James " a poor people " in 
the north of England, in towns and villages of Nottingham- 
shire, Lincolnshire, and the borders of Yorkshire, in and 
near Scrooby, had " become enlightened by the word of 
God." "Presently," we are told by their historian, "they 
were both scoffed and scorned by the profane multitude ; 
and their ministers, urged with the yoke of subscription," 
were, by the increase of troubles, led " to see further," that 



THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 91 

not only *'the beggarly ceremonies were monuments of 
idolatry," but also " that the lordly power of the pre- 
lates ought not to be submitted to." Many of them, there- 
fore, " whose hearts the. Lord had touched with heavenly 
zeal for his truth," resolved, " whatever it might cost them, 
to shake off the anti-Christian bondage, and, as the Lord's 
free people, to join themselves by a covenant into a 
church estate in the fellowship of the gospel." Of the 
same faith with Calvin, heedless of acts of Parliament, 
they rejected " the offices and callings, the courts and 
canons" of bishops, and, renouncing all obedience to 
human authority in spiritual things, asserted for themselves 
an unlimited and never-ending right to make advances 
in truth, and " walk in all the ways which God had made 
known or should make known to them." 

The reformed church chose for one of their ministers 
John Robinson, " a man not easily to be paralleled," " of a 
most learned, polished, and modest spirit." Their ruling 
elder was William Brewster, who ''was their special stay 
and help." They were beset and watched night and day 
by the agents of prelacy. For about a year they kept their 
meetings every Sabbath, in one place or another ; exercis- 
ing the worship of God among themselves, notwithstanding 
all the diligence and malice of their adversaries. But, as 
the humane ever decline to enforce the laws dictated by 
bigotry, the office devolves on the fanatic or the savage. 
Hence the severity of their execution usually surpassed the 
intention of their autliors ; and the peaceful members of 
"the poor, persecuted flock of Christ," despairing of rest 
in England, resolved to go into exile. 

The departure from England was effected with much 
suffering and hazard. The first attempt, in 1607, was pre- 
vented ; but the magistrates checked the ferocity of the 
subordinate officers ; and, after a month's arrest of the 



92 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

whole company, seven only of the principal men were de- 
tained a little longer in prison. The next spring the design 
was renewed. As if it had been a crime to escape from 
persecution, an unfrequented heath in Lincolnshire, near the 
mouth of the Humber, was the place of secret meeting. Just 
as a boat was bearing apart of the emigrants to their ship, a 
company of horsemen appeared in pursuit, and seized on the 
helpless women and children who had not yet adventured on 
the surf. " Pitiful it was to see the heavy case of these poor 
women in distress ; what weeping and crying on every side." 
But, when they were apprehended, it seemed impossible to 
punish and imprison wives and children for no other crime 
than that they would not part from their husbands and 
fathers." They could not be sent home, for *' they had no 
homes to go to ; " so that, at last, the magistrates were " glad 
to be rid of them on any terms," " though, in the meantime, 
they, poor souls, endured misery enough." Such was the 
flight of Robinson and Brewster, and their followers, from 
the land of their fathers. 

Their arrival in Amsterdam,^ in 1608, was but the begin- 
ning of their wanderings. " They knew they were pilgrims, 
and looked not much on those things, but lifted up their 
eyes to heaven, their dearest country, and quieted their 
spirits." 

They lived but as men in exile. Many of their English 
friends would not come to them, or departed from them 
weeping. " Their continual labours, with other crosses and 
sorrows, left them in danger to scatter or sink." " Their 
children, sharing their parents' burdens, bowed under the 
weight, and were becoming decrepid in early youth." Con- 
scious of ability to act a higher part in the great drama of 
humanity, they were moved by '' a hope and inward zeal 
of advancing the gospel of the kingdom of Christ in the 
1 In Hollajid, 



THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 93 

remote parts of the New World ; yea, though they should 
be but as stepping-stones unto others for performing so 
great a work." 

After some years, trusting in God and in themselves, 
they made ready for their departure. The ships which 
they had provided — the Speediuell, of sixty tons, the 
Mayflower^ of one hundred and eighty tons — could hold 
but a minority of the congregation; and Robinson was 
therefore detained at Leyden, while Brewster, the governing 
elder, who was also an able teacher, conducted "such of 
the youngest and strongest as freely offered themselves." 
Every enterprise of the pilgrims began from God. A solemn 
fast was held. '' Let us seek of God," said they, " a right- 
way for us, and for our little ones, and for all our sub- 
stance." Anticipating their high destiny, and the sublime 
lessons of liberty that would grow out of their religious 
tenets, Robinson gave them a farewell, breathing a freedom 
of opinion and an independence of authority such as then 
were hardly known in the world. 

" I charge you, befote God and his blessed angels, that 
you follow me no further than you have seen me follow the 
Lord Jesus Christ. The Lord has more truth yet to break 
forth out of his holy word. I cannot sufficiently bewail 
the condition of the reformed churches, who are come to a 
period in religion, and will go at present no further thar 
the instruments of their reformation. Luther and Calvin 
were great and shining lights in their times, yet they pene- 
trated not into the whole counsel of God. I beseech you, 
remember it, — 'tis an article of your church covenant, — 
that you be ready to receive whatever truth shall be made 
known to you from the written word of God." 

" When the ship was ready to carry us away," writes 
Edward Winslow, " the brethren that stayed at Leyden, 
having again solemnly sought the Lord with us and for us, 



94 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

feasted us that were to go, at our pastor's house, being 
large ; where we refreshed ourselves, after tears, with sing- 
ing of psalms, making joyful melody in our hearts^ as well 
as with the voice, there being many of the congregation 
very expert in music ; and indeed it v/as the sweetest 
melody that ever mine ears heard. After this they accom- 
panied us to Delft-Haven, where we went to embark, and 
then feasted us again ; and, after . prayer performed by our 
pastor, when a flood of tears was poured out, they accom- 
panied us to the ship, but were not able to speak one to 
another for the abundance of sorrow to part. But we only, 
going abroad, gave them a volley of small shot and three 
pieces of ordnance ; and so, lifting up our hands to each 
other, and our hearts for each other to the Lord our God, 
we departed.'' 

A prosperous wind soon wafts the vessel to Southampton ; 
and in a fortnight the Mayflower ^xv^ the Speedwell, freighted 
with the first colony of New England, leave Southampton 
for America. But they had not gone far upon the Atlantic 
before the smaller vessel was found to need repairs, and 
they entered the port of Dartmouth. After the lapse of 
eight precious days, they again weigh anchor; the coast 
of England recedes ; already they are unfurling their sails 
on the broad ocean, when the captain of the Speedwell, with 
his company, dismayed at the dangers of the enterprise, 
once more pretends that his ship is too weak for the 
service. They put back to Plymouth, " and agree to dis- 
miss her, and those who are willing return to London, 
though this was very grievous and discouraging." Having 
thus winnowed their numbers, the little band, not of resolute 
men only, but wives, some far gone in pregnancy, children, 
infants, a floating village of one hundred and two souls, 
went on board the single ship, which was hired only to 
convey them across the Atlantic ; and on the sixth day of 



THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 95 

September, 1620, thirteen years after the first colonization 
of Virginia, two months before the concession of the grand 
charter of Plymouth, without any warrant from the sovereign 
of England, without any useful charter from a corporate 
body, the passengers in the Mayflower set sail for a new 
world, where the past could offer no favourable auguries. 

Had New England been colonized immediately on the 
discovery of the American continent, the old English insti- 
tutions would have been planted with the Roman Catholic 
hierarchy ; had the settlement been made under Elizabeth, 
it would have been before activity of the popular mind in 
religion had conducted to a corresponding activity of mind 
in politics. The pilgrims were Englishmen, Protestants, 
exiles from conscience, men discipHned by misfortune, culti 
vated by opportunities of extensive observation, equal in 
rank as in rights, and bound by no codG but that of religion 
or the public will. 

The eastern coast of the United States abounds in beau- 
tiful and convenient harbours, in majestic bays and rivers. 
The first Virginia colony, sailing along the shores of North 
Carolina, was, by a favouring storm, driven into the magnifi- 
cent Bay of the Chesapeake ; the pilgrims, having selected 
for their settlement the country near the Hudson, the best 
position on the whole coast, were conducted to the most 
barren parts of Massachusetts. After a boisterous voyage 
of sixty-three days, during which one person had died, they 
espied land; and in two days more cast anchor in the 
harbour of Cape Cod. 



96 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 



XIX. 

DEATH OF RALEIGH. 
GARDINER. 

[The settlers were hardly landed on the shores of America 
when the warrior and statesman who had first planned the 
English colonization of the New World passed away, 
Raleigh had been honoured and trusted by Elizabeth, 
but he was feared by James, accused of treason, and im- 
prisoned for long years in the Tower. At last he was 
suffered to sail to discover new lands on the Oronoco ; 
but he found the Spaniards there, was forced to fight, and 
defeated. On his return the Spanish King made com- 
plaint of his attack, and James suffered him to be put to 
death on the old charge of treason.] 

It was in vain that Raleigh begged for a few days to 
complete some writings which he had on hand ; he was told 
that he must prepare for execution on the following morning. 
As he was to suffer in Palace Yard, he was taken to the 
Gatehouse at Westminster to pass the night. With the 
certainty of death he had regained the composure to which 
he had long been a stranger. In the evening. Lady Raleigh 
came to take her farewell of her husband. Thinking that 
he might like to know that the last rites would be paid to 
his remains, she told him that she had obtained permission 
to dispose of his body. He smiled, and answered, " It is 
well, Bess, that thou mayest dispose of that dead which 
thou hadst not always the disposing of when it was alive." 
At midnight she left him, and he lay down to sleep for three 
or four hours. When he awoke he had a long conference 
with Dr. Townson, the Dean of Westminster, who was 



DEATH OF RALEIGH. 97 

surprised at the fearlessness which he exhibited at the 
prospect of death, and begged him to consider whether it 
did not proceed from carelessness or vain glory. Raleigh, 
now as ever unconscious of his real faults, did his best to 
disabuse him of this idea, and told him that he was sure 
that no man who knew and feared God could die with 
fearlessness and courage, except he was certain of God's 
love and favour to him. Reassured by these words. Town- 
son proceeded to administer the Communion to him ; after 
he had received it, he appeared cheerful, and even merry. 
He spoke of his expectation that he would be able to per- 
suade the world of his innocence. The good Dean was 
troubled with talk of this kind, and begged him not to 
speak against the justice of the realm. Raleigh acknow- 
ledged that he had been condemned according to the law, 
but said that, for all that, he must perish in asserting his 
innocence. 

As the hour for his execution approached, Raleigh took 
his breakfast, and smoked his tobacco as usual. His spirits 
were excited by the prospect of the scene which was before 
him. Being asked how he liked the wine which was brought 
to him, he said that ''it was good drink, if a man might 
tarry by it." At eight the officers came to fetch him away. 
As he passed out to the scaffold he noticed that one of his 
friends, who had come to be near him at the last, was 
unable to push through the throng. " I know not," he said, 
" what shift you will make, but I am sure to have a place." 
A minute after, catching sight of an old man with a bald head 
he asked him whether he wanted anything. " Nothing," he 
replied, "but to see you, and to pray God to have mercy on 
your soul." " I thank thee, good friend," answered Raleigh, 
" I am sorry I have no better thing to return thee for thy 
good^ will ; but take this nightcap, for thou hast more need 
of it now than I." 



98 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

As soon as he had mounted the scaffold, he asked leave 
to address the people. His speech had been carefully 
prepared. Every word he spoke, was, as far as we can 
judge, literally true ; but it was not the whole truth, and 
it was calculated in many points to produce a false im- 
pression on his hearers. He spoke of the efforts which 
it had cost him to induce his men to return to England, 
and denied having wished to desert his comrades whilst 
he was lying at the mouth of the Orinoco. He then 
adverted to a fooHsh tale which had long been current 
against him, to the effect that at the execution of the Earl 
of Essex,^ he had taken his place at a window in order 
to see him die, and had puffed tobacco at him in deri- 
sion. The story, he said, was a pure fiction. " And 
now," he concluded by saying, "I entreat that you all will 
join with me in prayer to that Great God of Heaven whom 
I have so grievously offended, being a man full of all vanity, 
who has lived a sinful life in such callings as have been 
most inducing to it ; for I have been a soldier, a sailor, and 
a courtier, which are courses of wickedness and vice ; that 
His Almighty goodness will forgive me ; that He will cast 
away my sins from me, and that He will receive me into 
everlasting life ; so I take my leave of you all, making my 
peace with God." 

As soon as the preparations were completed, Raleigh 
turned to the executioner, and asked to see the axe. " I 
prithee," said he as the man held back, ''let me see it; 
dost thou think that I am afraid of it?" He ran his 
.finger down the edge, saying to himself, ''This is sharp 
medicine, but it is a sound cure for all diseases." He then 
knelt down and laid his head upon the block. Some one 
objected that he ought to lay his face towards the east : 

^ Lord Essex ivas Raleigh^ s great rival hi Elizabeth^ s f/Tvour. 
He at last rose in revolt against her, and was put to death. 



DEATH OF RALEIGH. 99 

" What matter," he said, " how the head lie, so the heart be 
right ? " After he had prayed for a Httle while, he gave the 
appointed signal ; seeing that the headsman was reluctant 
to do his duty, he called upon him to strike. In two blows 
the head was severed from the body. His remains were 
delivered to his wife, and were by her buried in St. Mar- 
garet's at Westminster. 

A copy of verses written by Raleigh the night before 
his execution was discovered, and was soon passed from 
hand to hand. It was a strange medley, in which faith 
and confidence in God appear side by side with sarcasms 
upon the lawyers and the courtiers. It was perhaps at 
a later hour that he wrote on the fly leaf of his Bible 
those touching lines in which the higher part of his nature 
alone is visible ; — 

*' Even such is time that takes on trust 
Our youth, our joys, and all we have, 
And pays us but with age and dust ; 
Who in the dark and silent grave, 
When we have wandered all our ways, 
Shuts up the story of our days ! 
But from this earth, this grave, this dust, 
The Lord shall raise me up, I trust." 



"No matter how the head lie, so the heart be right." 
Perhaps, after all, no better epitaph could be found to in- 
scribe upon Raleigh's tomb. For him, the child of the 
sixteenth century, it was still possible to hold truth and 
falsehood lightly, without sinking into meanness. In his 
chase after wealth, he was never sordid or covetous. His 
sins had brought with them their own punishment, a punish- 
ment which did not tarry, because he was so utterly un- 
conscious of them. Yet it was no mere blindness to his 
errors which made all England feel that Raleigh's death was 



100 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

a national dishonour. His countrymen knew that in his 
wildest enterprises he had always before him the thought of 
England's greatness, and that, in his eyes, England's great- 
ness was indissolubly connected with the truest welfare of 
all other nations. They knew that his heart was right. 



XX. 

THE PURITANS. 
KINGSLEY. 

[Throughout the reign of Elizabeth the bulk of Englishmen 
were becoming more zealously Protestant and religious. 
Such men came to be called " Precisians " or " Puritans." 
Under James, who hated it, Puritanism spread fast ; and 
his son, Charles the First, found in it the great obstacle 
to his attempts to govern England in defiance of the 
Parliament. The Puritans were stern and sober-minded 
men ; but they were of noble temper, and did much to 
raise the standard of English life. Mr. Kingsley has 
given a fine picture of a young Puritan in his sketch of 
Zeal-for-Truth Thoresby.] 

Was there no poetry in these Puritans, because they wrote 
no poetry ? We do not mean now the unwritten tragedy of 
the battle-psalm and the charge ; but simply idyllic poetry 
and quiet home-drama, love-poetry of the heart and the 
hearth, and the beauties of every-day human life? Take 
the most commonplace of them : was Zeal-for-Truth Thor- 
esby, of Thoresby Rise in Deeping Fen, because his father 
had thought fit to give him an ugly and silly name, the less 
of a noble lad ? Did his name prevent his being six feet 
high ? Were his shoulders the less broad for it, his cheeks 
the less ruddy for it ? He wore his flaxen hair of the same 
length that every one now wears theirs, instead of letting it 



THE PURITANS. lOi 

hang half-way to his waist in essenced curls ; but was he 
therefore the less of a true Viking's son, bold-hearted as his 
sea-roving ancestors who won the Danelagh by Canute's 
side, and settled there on Thoresby Rise, to grow wheat 
and breed horses, generation succeeding generation, in the 
old moated grange ? He carried a Bible in his jack-boot : 
but did that prevent him, as Oliver ^ rode past him with an 
approving smile on Naseby-field, thinking himself a very 
handsome fellow, with his mustache and imperial, and 
bright red coat, and cuirass well polished in spite of many 
a dint, as he sate his father's great black horse as gracefully 
and firmly as any long-locked and essenced cavalier in front 
of him ? Or did it prevent him thinking too, for a moment, 
with a throb of the heart, that sweet Cousin Patience far away 
at home, could she but see him, might have the same opinion 
of him as he had of himself ? Was he the worse for the 
thought ? He was certainly not the worse for checkhig it the 
next instant, with manly shame for letting such "carnal 
vanities" rise in his heart, while he was ''doing the Lord's 
work " in the teeth of death and hell : but was there no poetry 
in him then ? No poetry in him five minutes after, as the 
long rapier swung round his head, redder and redder at every 
sweep ? We are befooled by names. Call him Crusader 
instead of Roundhead, and he seems at once (granting him 
only sincerity, which he had, and that of a right awful kind) 
as complete a knight-errant as ever watched and prayed, ere 
putting on his spurs, in fantastic Gothic chapel, beneath 
" storied windows richly dight." Was there no poetry in 
him, either, half an hour afterwards, as he lay bleeding 
across the corpse of the gallant horse, waiting for his turn 
with the surgeon, and fumbled for the Bible in his boot,, and 
tried to hum a psalm, and thought of Cousin Patience, and 
his father, and his mother, and how they would hear, at 

^ Oliver Cromwell. 
12 



I02 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

least, that he had played the man in Israel that day, and 
resisted unto blood, striving against sin and the Man of 
Sin? 

And was there no poetry in him, too, as he came wearied 
along Thoresby dyke, in the quiet autumn eve, home to the 
house of his forefathers, and saw afar off the knot of tall 
poplars rising over the broad misty flat, and the one great 
abele tossing its sheets of silver in the dying gusts, and 
knew that they stood before his father's door ? Who can 
tell all the pretty child-memories which flitted across his 
brain at that sight, and made him forget that he was a 
v;ounded cripple ? There is the dyke where he and his 
brothers snared the great pike which stole the ducklings — 
how many years ago ? while pretty little Patience stood by 
trembling, and shrieked at each snap of the brute's wide 
jaws; and there, down that long dark lode, ruffling with 
crimson in the sunset breeze, he and his brothers skated 
home in triumph with Patience when his uncle died. What 
a day that was ! when, in the clear, bright winter noon, 
they laid the gate upon the ice, and tied the beef-bones 
under the four corners, and packed little Patience on it. — 
How pretty she looked, though her eyes were red with 
weeping, as she peeped out from among the heap of 
blankets and horse-hides, and how merrily their long fen- 
runners whistled along the ice-lane, between the high banks 
of sighing reed, as they towed home their new treasure in 
triumph, at a pace like the race-horse's, to their dear old 
home among the poplar trees. And now he was going 
home to meet her, after a mighty victory, a deliverance 
from heaven, second only in his eyes to that Red-sea one. 
Was there no poetry in his heart at that thought ? Did not 
the glowing sunset, and the reed-beds which it transfigured 
before him into sheets of golden flame, seem tokens that 
the glory of God was going before him in his path ? Did 



THE PURITANS. 103 

not the sweet clamour of the wild-fowl, gathering for one 
rich paean ere they sank into rest, seem to him as God's 
bells chiming him home in triumph, with peals sweeter and 
bolder than those of Lincoln or Peterborough steeple-house ? 
Did not the very lapwing, as she tumbled softly wailing, 
before his path, as she did years ago, seem to welcome the 
wanderer home in the name of heaven ? 

Fair Patience, too, though she was a Puritan, yet did not 
her cheek flush, her eye grow dim, like any other girl's, as 
she saw far off the red-coat, like a sliding spark of fire, 
coming slowly along the straight fen-bank, and fled up stairs 
into her chamber to pray, half that it might be, half that it 
might not be he ? Was there no happy storm of human 
tears and human laughter when he entered the courtyard 
gate? Did not the old dog lick his Puritan hand as 
lovingly as if it had been a Cavalier's ? Did not lads and 
lasses run out shouting ? Did not the old yeoman father 
hug him, v/eep over him, hold him at arm's length, and hug 
him again, as heartily as any other John Bull, even though 
the next moment he called all to kneel down and thank 
Him who had sent his boy home again, after bestowing on 
him the grace to bind kings in chains and nobles with links 
of iron, and contend to death for the faith delivered to the 
saints ? And did not Zeal-for-Truth look about as wistfully 
for Patience as any other man would have done, longing to 
see her, yet not daring even to ask for her? And when she 
came down at last, was she the less lovely in his eyes 
because she came, not flaunting with bare bosom, in tawdry 
finery and paint, but shrouded close in coif and pinner, 
hiding from all the world beauty which was there still, but 
was meant for one alone, and that only if God willed, in 
God's good time? And was there no faltering of their 
voices, no light in their eyes, no trembling pressure of their 
hands, which said more, and was more, aye^ and more 



I04 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

beautiful in the sight of Him who made them, than all 
Herrick's Dianemes, Waller's Saccharissas, flames, darts, 
posies, love-knots, anagrams, and the rest of the insincere 
cant of the court ? What if Zeal-for-Truth had . never 
strung together two rhymes in his life? Did not his 
heart go for inspiration to a loftier Helicon, when it 
whispered to itself, *"' My love, my dove, my undefiled, is 
but one," than if he had filled pages with sonnets about 
Venuses and Cupids, love-sick shepherds and cruel nymphs ? 

And was there no poetry, true idyllic poetry, as of Long- 
fellow's "Evangeline" itself, in that trip round the old 
farm next morning; when Zeal-for-Truth, after looking 
over every heifer, and peeping into every sty, would 
needs canter down by his father's side to the horse-fen, with 
his arm in a sling ; while the partridges whirred up before 
them, and the lurchers flashed like grey snakes after the 
hare, and the colts came whinnying round, with staring 
eyes and streaming manes, and the two chatted on in the 
same sober businesslike Enghsh tone, alternately of "The 
Lord's great dealings " by General Cromwell, the pride of 
all honest fen-jnen, and the price of troop-horses at the next 
Horncastle fair ? 

Poetry in those old Puritans ? Why not ? They were 
men of like passions with ourselves. They loved, they 
married, they brought up children ; they feared, they sinned, 
they sorrowed, they fought — they conquered. There was 
poetry enough in them, be sure, though they acted it like 
men, instead of singing it like birds. 



MILTON. 105 

XXI. 

MILTON. 
GREEN. 

A picture more real and hardly less picturesque of Puritan 
life is to be seen in the early life of the Puritan poet, 
John Milton.] 

Milton is not only the highest, but the completest type 
of Puritanism. His life is absolutely contemporary with that 
of his cause. He was born when it began to exercise a 
direct power over English politics and English religion ; he 
died when its effort to mould them into its own shape was 
over, and when it had again sunk into one of many influences 
to which we owe our English character. His earlier verse, 
the pamphlets of his riper years, the epics of his age, mark 
with a singular precision the three great stages in its history. 
His youth shows us how much of the gaiety, the poetic ease, 
the intellectual culture of the Renascence ^ lingered in a 
Puritan home. Scrivener- and " precisian " ^ as his father 
was, he was a skilful musician ; and the boy inherited his 
father's skill on lute and organ. One of the finest outbursts 
in the scheme of education which he put forth at a later 
time is a passage, in which he vindicates the province of 
music as an agent in moral training. His home, his tutor, 
his school were all rigidly Puritan ; but there was nothing 
narrow or illiberal in his early training. '^ My father," he 
says, " destined me while yet a little boy to the study of 

^ T/ie age of Elizabeth. ^ A scrivener was imich like a 

7nodern attoj-ney. ^ 77^^ Ptcritans were called '■^ precisians^'' 

from their preciseness of speech and avoidance of oaths and 
untrnths. 



io6 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

humane letters ; which I seized with such eagerness that 
from the twelfth year of my age I scarcely ever went from 
my lessons to bed before midnight." But to the Greek, 
Latin, and Hebrew he learnt at school, the scrivener advised 
him to add Italian and French. Nor were English letters 
neglected. Spenser gave the earliest turn to his poetic 
genius. In spite of the war between playwright and pre- 
cisian, a Puritan youth could still in Milton's days avow his 
love of the stage, " if Jonson's ^ learned sock be on, or 
sweetest Shakspere, Fancy's child, warble his native wood- 
notes wild," and gather from the " masques and antique 
pageantry" of the court revel hints for his own *'Comus" 
and " Arcades.'' Nor does any shadow of the coming struggle 
with the Church disturb the young scholar's reverie, as he 
v/anders beneath "the high embowed roof, with antique 
pillars, massy proof, and storied windows richly dight, 
casting a dim religious light," or as he hears "the peaHng 
organ blow to the full- voiced choir below, in service high 
and anthem clear." 

His enjoyment of the gaiety of life stands in bright con- 
trast with the gloom and sternness of the later Puritanism. 
In spite of " a certain reservedness of natural disposition," 
which shrank from "festivities and jests, in which I acknow- 
ledge my faculty to be very slight," the young singer could 
still enjoy the "jest and youthful jollity," of the world around 
him, of its " quips and cranks and wanton wiles ;" he could 
join the crew of Mirth, and look pleasantly on at the village 
fair, "where the jolly rebecks sound to many a youth and 
many a maid, dancing in the chequered shade." But his 
pleasures were unreproved. There was nothing ascetic in 
his look, in his slender, vigorous frame, his face full of a 
delicate yet serious beauty, the rich brown hair which 

^ Beu Jonson, the greatest of EnoUsh dramatists who followed 
Shakspere. 



MILTON. 107 

clustered over his brow ; and the words we have quoted show 
his sensitive enjoyment of all that was beautiful. But from 
coarse or sensual self-indulgence the young Puritan turned 
with disgust : " A certain reservedness of nature, an honest 
haughtiness and self-esteem, kept me still above those low 
descents of mind." He drank in an ideal chivalry from 
Spenser, but his religion and purity disdained the outer 
pledge on which chivalry built up its fabric of honour. 
"Every free and gende spirit," said' Milton, "without that 
oath, ought to be born a knight." It was with this temper 
tiiat he passed from his London school, St. Paul's, to 
Christ's College at Cambridge, and it was this temper that 
he preserved throughout his University career. He left 
Cambridge, as he said afterwards, " free from all reproach, 
and approved by all honest men," with a purpose of self- 
dedication "to that same lot, however mean or high, towards 
which time leads me, and the will of Heaven." 

Milton was engaged during the civil war ^ in strife with 
Presbyterians and with Royalists, pleading for civil and 
religious freedom,, for freedom of social life, and freedom of 
the press. At a later time he became Latin Secretary to the 
Protector, ^ in spite of a blindness which had been brought 
on by the intensity of his study. The Restoration found 
him of all hving men the most hateful to the Royalists ; for 
it was his "Defence of the English People" which had 
justified throughout Europe the execution of the King.'' 
Parliament ordered his book to be burnt by the common hang- 
man ; he was for a time imprisoned, and even when released 
he had to live amidst threats of assassination from fanatical 
Cavaliers. To the ruin of his cause were added personal 
misfortunes in the bankruptcy of the scrivener who held 
the bulk of his property, and in the Fire of London, which 

^ Between. Charles the First and the Pai'liament. 
6 Crofnwell. " Charles the First. 



io8 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

deprived him of much of what was left. As age grew on, 
he found himself reduced to comparative poverty, and 
driven to sell his library for subsistence. Even among the 
sectaries who shared his political opinions Milton stood in 
religious opinion alone, for he had gradually severed him- 
self from every accepted form of faith, and embraced 
Arianism, and had ceased to attend at any place of worship. 
Nor was his home a happy one. The grace and geniality 
of his youth disappeared in the drudgery of a schoolmaster's 
life and amongst the invectives of controversy. In age his 
temper became stern and exacting. His daughters, who 
were forced to read to their blind father in languages which 
they could not understand, revolted utterly against their 
jDondage. 

But solitude and misfortune only brought out into bolder 
relief Milton's inner greatness. There was a grand sim- 
plicity in the life of his later years. He listened every 
morning to a chapter of the Hebrew Bible, and after 
musing in silence for a while pursued his studies till mid- 
day. Then he took exercise for an hour, played for another 
hour on the organ or viol, and renew^ed his studies. The 
evening was spent in converse with visitors and friends. 
For lonely and unpopular as Milton was, there w^as one 
thing about him which made his house in Bunhill Fields a 
place of pilgrimage to the wits of the Restoration. He was 
the last of the Elizabethans. He had possibly seen Shakspcre, 
as on his visits to London after his retirement to Stratford 
the playwright passed along Bread Street to his wit combats 
at the Mermaid. He had been the contemporary of Webster 
and Massinger, of Herrick and Crashaw. His "Comus" 
and "Arcades" had rivalled the masques of Ben Jonson. 
It was with a reverence drawn from thoughts like these that 
Dryden looked on the blind poet as he sate, clad in black, 
in his chamber hung with rusty green tapestry, his fair brown 



MILTON. 109 

hair falling as of old over a calm, serene face that still 
retained much of its youthful beauty, his cheeks delicately 
coloured, his clear grey eyes showing no trace of their 
blindness. But famous, whether for good or ill, as his prose 
writings had made him, during fifteen years only a few 
sonnets had broken his silence as a singer. It was now, in 
his blindness and old age, with the cause he loved trodden 
under foot by men as vile as the rabble in " Comus," that 
the genius of Milton took refuge in the great poem on 
which througii years of silence his imagination had still been 
brooding. 

On his return from his travels in Italy, Milton spoke of 
himself as musing on " a work not to be raised from the 
heat of youth or the vapours of wine, like that which flows 
at waste from the pen of some vulgar amourist or the trencher 
fury of a rhyming parasite, nor to be obtained by the invo- 
cation of Dame Memory and her Siren daughters ; but by 
devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit who can enrich with all 
utterance and knowledge, and sends out his Seraphim, with 
the hallowed fire of his altar, to touch and purify the lips of 
whom He pleases." His lips were touched at last. Seven 
years after the Restoration appeared the " Paradise Lost," 
and four years later the " Paradise Regained " and " Samson 
Agonistes,'^ in the severe grandeur of whose verse we see 
the poet himself "fallen," like Samson, "on evil days and 
evil tongues, with darkness and with danger compassed 
round." But great as the two last works were, their great- 
ness was eclipsed by that of their predecessor. The whole 
genius of Milton expressed itself in the "Paradise Lost." 
The romance, the gorgeous fancy, the daring imagination 
which he shared with the Elizabethan poets, the large but 
ordered beauty of form which he had drunk in from the 
literature of Greece and Rome, the sublimity of conception, 
the loftiness of phrase which he owed to the Bible, blended 
12* 



no PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

in this story " of man's first disobedience, and the fruit of 
that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste brought death into 
the world and all our woe." It is only when we review the 
strangely mingled elements which make up the poem that 
we realize the genius which fused them into such a perfect 
whole. The meagre outline of the Hebrew legend is lost 
in the splendour and music of Milton's verse. The stern 
idealism of Geneva is clothed in the gorgeous robes of the 
Renascence. If we miss something of the free play of 
Spenser^s fancy, and yet more of the imaginative delight in 
their own creations which gives so exquisite a life to the 
poetry of the early dramatists, we find in place of these the 
noblest example which our literature affords of the ordered 
majesty of classic form. 



XXII. 

STRAFFORD'S TRIAL AND DEATH.' 

FORSTER. 

[James struggled fiercely against Puritanism and the love of 
freedom it aroused, and the struggle went on under his son 
Charles the First. Parliament after parliament was dis- 
solved ; and Charles at last resolved to govern by his own 
will. In this he was chiefly supported by Sir Thomas 
Wentworth, afterwards made Earl of Strafford, a man of 
great genius, but of an arbitrary and despotic temper, 
who went to Ireland as its governor, and strove to build 
up an Irish army which miglit be used to keep England 
and English freedom at the King's feet. But after some 
years troubles broke suddenly out in Scotland : the Scots 
rose in revolt ; the English'troops whom the King raised 
refused to fight ; the Irish army proved useless ; and the 
whole system of arbitrary rule came to an end. Charles 
was forced to summon the Long Parliament, and one of 



STRAFFORD'S TRIAL AND DEATH. in 

its first acts was to impeach Lord Strafford. His trial 
before the Lords was in eftect a trial of the King's 



Three kingdoms,^ by their representatives, were present, 
and for fifteen days, the period of the duration of the trial, 
'* it was daily," says Baillie, " the most glorious assembly 
the isle could afford." The Earl - himself appeared before it 
each day in deep mourning, wearing his George.^ The 
stern and simple character of his features accorded with the 
occasion, — his ''countenance manly black," as Whitelock 
terms it, and his thick dark hair cut short from his ample 
forehead. A poet who was present exclaimed, 

"On thy brow 
Sate terror mixed with wisdom, and at once 
Saturn and Hermes in thy countenance." 

— To this was added the deep interest which can never be 
withheld from sickness bravely borne. His face was dashed 
with paleness, and his body stooped with its own infirmities 
even more than with its master's cares. This was, indeed, 
so evident, that he was obliged to allude to it himself, and 
it was not seldom alluded to by others. " They had here," 
he said, on one occasion, "this rag of mortality before 
them, worn out with numerous infirmities, which, if they 
tore into shreds, there was no great loss, only in the spilling 
of his, they would open a way to the blood of all the 
nobility in the land." His disorders were the most terrible 
to bear in themselves, and of that nature, moreover, which 
can least endure the aggravation of mental anxiety. A 
severe attack of stone, gout in one of his legs to an extent 
even with him unusual, and other pains, had bent all their 

^ Scotland and Ireland sent representatives to join those of the 
English House of Commons as accusers. ^ Strafford, 

^ The i?isignia of the Garter. 



112 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

afflictions upon him. Yet, though a generous sympathy was 
demanded on this score, and paid by not a few of his worst 
opponents, it availed Httle with the multitudes that were 
present. Much noise and confusion prevailed at all times 
through the hall ; there was always a great clamour near the 
doors ; and we have it on the authority of Rushworth him- 
self,* that at those intervals when Strafford was busied in 
preparing his answers, the most distracting "hubbubs" 
broke out, lords walked about and chatted, and commoners 
were yet more offensively loud. This was unfavourable to 
the recollection, for disproof, of incidents long passed, and 
of conversations forgotten ! But conscious that he was not 
to be allowed in any case permission to retire, as soon as 
one of his opponent managers had closed his charge, the 
Earl calmly turned his back to his judges, and with uncom- 
plaining composure, conferred with his secretaries and 
counsel. 

As the trial proceeded, so extraordinary were the re- 
sources he manifested, that the managers of the commons 
failed in much of the effect of their evidence. Even the 
clergy who were present forgot the imprisonment of the 
weak and miserable Laud ^ (who now lay in prison, stripped 
of his power by this formidable parliament, which the very 
despotism of himself and Strafford had gifted with its 
potently operative force !) and thought of nothing but the 
*' grand apostate " ^ before them. " By this time," says May, 
" the people began to be a little divided in opinion. The 
clergy in general were so much fallen into love and admira- 
tion of this Earl, that the Archbishop of Canterbury was 
almost quite forgotten by them. The courtiers cried him 

^ T/ie Clerk of the Hotise of Commons. ^ Archbishop of 

Canierbtiry, and fellow-minister of the Kijtg with Strafford. 

6 Straffoi'd had be o tin his parliamentary life as a supporter of 
English rights, and had afterwards gone over to the side of 
the Crown. 



STRAFFORD'S TRIAL AND DEATH. 113 

up, and the ladies were exceedingly on his side. It seemed 
a very pleasant object to see so many Sempronias, with pen, 
ink, and paper in their hands, noting the passages, and dis- 
coursing upon the grounds, of law and state. They were 
all of his side, whether moved by pity, proper to their sex, 
or by ambition of being able to judge of the parts of the 
prisoner. Even the chairman of the committee who pre- 
pared his impeachment observes, "Certainly never any 
man acted such a part, on such a theatre, with more 
wisdom, constancy, and eloquence, with greater reason, 
judgment, and temper, and with a better grace in all his 
words and gestures, than this great and excellent person 
did." 

[The trial ended in the Earl's condemnation; and in 
spite of his trust in the King, Charles left him to die.] 

Strafford moved on to the scaffold with undisturbed 
composure. His body, so soon to be released, had given 
him a respite of its infirmities for that trying hour. Rush- 
worth, the Clerk of the Parliament, was one of the spectators, 
and has minutely described the scene. *' When he arrived 
outside the Tower, the Lieutenant desired him to take coach 
at the gate, lest the enraged mob should tear him in pieces. 
' No,' said he, * Mr. Lieutenant, I dare look death in the 
face, and the people too ; have you a care I do not escape ; 
'tis equal to me how I die, whether by the stroke of the 
executioner, or by the madness and fury of the people, if 
that may give them better content.'" Not less than 
100,000 persons, who had crowded in from all parts, were 
visible on Tower-hill, in a long and dark perspective. 
Strafford, in his walk, took off his hat frequently, and saluted 
them, and received not a word of insult or reproach. His 
step and manner are described by Rushworth to have been 
those of " a general marching at the head of an army, to 
breathe victory, rather than those of a condemned man, to 



114 PILOSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

undergo the sentence of death." At his side, upon the 
scaffold, stood his brother. Sir George Wentworth, the 
Bishop of Armagh, the Earl of Cleveland, and others of his 
friends, — and behind them the indefatigable collector Rush- 
worth, who " being then on the scaffold with him," as he 
says, took down the speech which, having asked their 
patience first, Strafford at some length addressed to the 
people. He declared the innocence of his intentions, what- 
ever might have been the construction of his acts, and said 
that the prosperity of his country was his fondest wish. 
But it augured ill, he told them, for the people's happiness, 
to write the commencement of a reformation in letters of 
blood. " One thing I desire to be heard in," he added, 
" and do hope that for Christian charity's sake I shall be 
beheved. I was so far from being against parliaments, that 
I did always think parliaments in England to be the happy 
constitution of the kingdom and nation, and the best means, 
under God, to make the King and his people happy." 

He then turned to take leave of the friends who had 
accompanied him to the scaffold. He beheld his .brother 
weeping excessively. "Brother," he said, "what do you 
see in me to cause these tears ? Does any innocent fear 
betray in me — guilt? or my innocent boldness — atheism? 
Think that you are now accompanying me the fourth time 
to my marriage-bed. That block must be my pillow, and 
here I shall rest from all my labours. No thoughts of envy, 
no dreams of treason, nor jealousies, nor cares, for the 
king, the state, or myself, shall interrupt this easy sleep. 
Remember me to ray sister, and to my wife ; and carry my 
blessing to my eldest son, and to Ann, and Arabella, not 
forgetting my little infant, that knows neither good nor evil, 
and cannot speak for itself God speak for it, and bless 
it ! " While undressing himself, and winding his hair under 
a cap, he said, looking on the block — "I do as cheerfully 



DEATH OF HAMPDEN. 115 

put oft my doublet at this time as ever I did when I went 
to bed." 

'*Then," proceeds Rushworth, closing this memorable 
scene, ''then he called, 'Where is the man that shall do 
this last office (meaning the executioner) ? call him to me.' 
When he came and asked him forgiveness, he told him he 
forgave him and all the world. Then kneeling down by the 
block, he went to prayer again by himself, the Bishop of 
Armagh kneeling on the one side, and the minister on the 
other ; to the which minister after prayer he turned himself, 
and spoke some few words softly ; having his hands lifted 
up, the minister closed his hands with his. Then bowing 
himself to the earth, to lay down his head on the block, he 
told the executioner that he would first lay down his head 
to try the fitness of the block, and take it up again, before 
he laid it down for good and all ; and so he did ; and before 
he laid it down again he told the executioner that he would 
give him warning when to strike, by stretching forth his 
hands ; and then he laid down his neck en the block, 
stretching out his hands ; the excutioner struck off his head 
at one blow, then took the head up in his hand, and showed 
it to all the people, and said, * God save the King ! ' " 



XXIII. 

DEATH OF HAMPDEN. 
MACAULAY. 

[For a time the King seemed to consent to the reforms of 
the Long Parliament ; but he at last broke from it, col- 
lected an army, and made tvar against it. The Parlia- 
ment gathered another army, and after a drawn battle at 
Edgehill, the two forces encamped in the valley of the 



Ii6 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Thames, Charles occupying Oxford, the Parliamentary 
army covering London by taking post in the vale of 
Aylesbury. The most active and able of its officers v%^as 
John Hampden, a Buckinghamshire squire, who had re- 
fused to pay an illegal tax called ship-money, and had 
become one of the leading members of the Long Parlia- 
ment. Hampden was as wise and temperate as he was 
earnest in his patriotism ; and his fall was the severest 
loss English freedom ever sustained.] 

In the early part of 1643 the shires lying in the neigh- 
bourhood of London, which were devoted to the cause of 
the Parliament, were incessantly annoyed by Rupert ^ and 
his cavalry. Essex ^ had extended his lines so far that 
almost every point was vulnerable. The young prince, 
who, though not a great general, was an active and enter- 
prising partisan, frequently surprised posts, burned villages, 
swept aAvay cattle, and was again at Oxford before a force 
sufficient to encounter him could be assembled. 

The languid proceedings of Essex were loudly con- 
demned by the troops. All the ardent and daring spirits in 
the parliamentary party were eager to have Hampden at 
their head. Had his life been prolonged, there is every 
reason to believe that the supreme command would have 
been entrusted to him. But it was decreed tliat, at this 
conjuncture, England should lose the only man who united 
perfect disinterestedness to eminent talents, the only man 
who, being capable of gaining the victory for her, was 
incapable of abusing that victory when gained. 

In the evening of the 17th of June Rupert darted out of 
Oxford with his cavalry on a predatory expedition. At three in 
the morning of the following day he attacked and dispersed a 
few parliamentary soldiers who lay at Postcombe. He then 

1 P'f'ince Rupert was a Geiihan nephew of Charles, who coin- 
manded his horse. 2 77^^ Earl of Essex was general of the 

Parliamentary arjny. 



DEATH OF HAMPDEN. 117 

flew to Chinnor, burned the village, killed or took all the 
troops who were quartered there, and piepared to hurry 
back with his booty and his prisoners to Oxford. 

Hampden had, on the preceding day, strongly represented 
to Essex the danger to which this part of the line was ex- 
posed. As soon as he received intelligence of .Rupert's 
incursion, he sent off a horseman with a message to the 
General. The cavaliers, he said, could return only by 
Chiselhampton Bridge. A force ought to be instantly de- 
spatched in that direction for the purpose of intercepting 
them. In the meantime he resolved to set out with all the 
cavalry that he could muster, for the purpose of impeding 
the march of the enemy till Essex could take measures for 
cutting off their retreat. A considerable body of horse and 
dragoons volunteered to follow him. He was not their 
commander. He did not even belong to their branch of 
the service. But " he was," says Lord Clarendon, 
" second to none but the General himself in the observance 
and application of all men." On the field of Chalgrove he 
came up with Rupert. A fierce skirmish ensued. In the 
first charge Hampden was struck in the shoulder by two 
bullets, which broke the bone, and lodged in his body. 
The troops of the Parliament lost heart and gave way. 
Rupert, after pursuing them for a short time, hastened to 
cross the bridge, and m.ade his retreat unmolested to 
Oxford. 

Hampden, with his head drooping, and his hands leaning 
on his horse's neck, moved feebly out of the batde. The 
mansion which had been inhabited by his father-in-law, 
and from which in his youth he had carried home his bride 
Elizabeth, was in sight. There still remains an affecting 
tradition that he looked for a moment towards that beloved 
house, and made an effort to go thither and die. But the 
enemy lay in that direction. He turned his horse tov/ards 



ii8 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Thame, where he arrived almost fainting with agony. The 
surgeon dressed his wounds. But there was no hope. The 
pain which he suffered was most excruciating. But he 
endured it v/ith admirable firmness and resignation. His 
f.rst care was for his country. He wrote from his bed 
several letters to London concerning public affairs, and 
sent a last pressing message to the head-quarters, recom- 
mending that the dispersed forces should be concentrated. 
When his public duties were performed, he calmly prepared 
himself to die. He was attended by a clergyman of the 
Church of England, with whom he had lived in habits of 
intimacy, and by the chaplain of the Buckinghamshire 
Greencoats, Dr. Spurton, whom Baxter describes as an able 
and excellent divine. 

A short time before Hampden's death the sacrament was 
administered to him. He declared that though he dis- 
liked the government of the Church of England, he yet 
asfreed with that Church as to all essential matters of doc- 

o 

trine. His intellect remained unclouded. When all was 
nearly over, he lay murmuring faint prayers for himself, 
and for the cause in which he died. " Lord Jesus," he 
exclaimed in the moment of the last agony, " receive my 
soul. O Lord, save my country. O Lord, be merciful 

to ." In that broken ejaculation passed away his noble 

and fearless spirit. 

He was buried in the parish church of Hampden.^ His 
soldiers, bareheaded, -svith reversed arms and muffled drums 
and colours, escorted his body to the grave, singing, as they 
marched, that lofty and melancholy psalm in which the 
fragility of hum.an life is contrasted with the immutability 
of Him to whom a thousand years are as yesterday when 
it is passed, and as a watch in the night. 

' The village of Hampden on the Cotswolds, by Hampden House. 



MARSTON MOOR. 119 

XXIV. 

MARSTON MOOR. 
MARKHAM. 

[For a time the royal armies won successes over those of 
their opponents, and the King gained ground. But the 
Scots at last came to the aid of the Parhament, and 
their armies closed on York ; the Scotch under Lord 
Leven, a Yorkshire army under Fairfax, and one from 
the Eastern Counties with Lord Manchester and Crom- 
well at its head. Lord Newcastle, who commanded for 
the King in the north, appealed for aid to Charles ; and 
Prince Rupert was sent to unite with him and to relieve 
the town. The forces met on Marston Moor, an open 
ground a few miles from York.] 

Here were the two great armies drawn up in battle 
array ; a deep ditch, and a strip of land covered with waving 
corn, a few hundred paces across, alone dividing them. We 
may picture to ourselves the long lines of horsemen, with 
their breast-plates glittering in the afternoon sun ; the solid 
masses of shouldered pikes, such as Velasquez has made us 
familiar with in his glorious picture of Las Lanzas ; and the 
hundreds of fluttering pennons above them, of all shapes 
and colours. The standard of Prince Rupert, with its red 
cross, was nearly five yards long. 

At about five in the afternoon, there was a silence — no 
movement on either side. A fearful ominous pause. The 
tension of such silence, at such a moment, was more than 
the men could endure, and soon "in Marston corn-fields 
they fell to singing psalms." Leven ^ paused, in the hope 

^ The Scotch General, Lord Leven, took supreme command m 
the whole Parliamentary force. 



I20 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

that the RoyaUsts would advance to attack him, for there 
would be an evident disadvantage to the army that crossed 
the ditch, as such a movement must necessarily somewhat 
break and confuse its line. But there was no sign of any 
such intention on the part of the enemy ; and old Leven, 
seeing that they would not charge him, resolved, by the 
help of God, to charge them. It was seven o'clock before 
the order for a general advance was sounded, but a 
"summer's evening is as long- as a winter's day," and there 
was time to join battle before night, when a bright harvest 
moon would give light enough for the victors to complete 
their work. 

The whole allied line came down through the corn in the 
bravest order, the solid squares of foot and masses of cavalry 
looking like so many thick clouds. They joined battle with 
their foes along the line ot the ditch, and then truly the 
silence was exchanged for a deafening noise of fire, clash- 
ing 01 steel, and loud defiant shouts. The Royalists were 
forced back at all points. Manchester's foot, led on -by 
General Crawford, drove the enemy out of the part of the 
ditch in their front v/ith some slaughter, capturing four 
drakes. This enabled the main battle of the Scots foot to 
pass the barrier with little opposition, the dragoons having 
already gained the line of Syke beck, or the "cross ditch," 
as they called it. Sir William Fairfax also, on the right 
centre, with his Yorkshire foot, beat off the enemy from the 
hedge in his front, captured a demi-culverin and two drakes,^* 
and began to lead his men up Moor-lane. 

Thus the allies had carried the ditch, and gained a 
position on the moor along their whole line. The muske- 
teers in the ditch fell back, and the battle commenced 
again on a new line, nearly as far north as White Syke 
close. 

^ Va7'ioiis sorts of artillery. 



MARSTON MOOR. 121 

Meanwhile the wings had deUvered their charges. David 
LesUe and Cromwell fell upon the Newark horse under 
Lord Byron close along the ditch, and, after some sharp 
fighting, routed and dispersed them. But, as they opened 
to right and left, the main body of the Royalist wing, con- 
sisting of Rupert's life guards and Grandison's regiment, 
appeared in the gap, ready to charge, some few hundred 
yards away on the moor. 

From some cause or other, Cromwell and his men did 
pause at a critical moment, when David Leslie dashed on 
to the charge, and met Rupert's horse in full career, giving 
the troopers of Manchester's brigade time to recover them- 
selves and support him. A desperate conflict ensued. For 
some time the two bodies of horses stood at swords' 
point, hacking one another. Ludlow heard a story that, 
having discharged their pistols, they flung them at each 
other's heads, and fell to with their swords. Young Lord 
Grandison received as many as ten wounds. At last the 
Royahsts wavered, broke, and fled in irretrievable rout, riding 
over and dispersing their own reserves of foot. Yet they had 
bravely disputed every inch of ground for nearly an hour. 
They fled along Wilstrop wood side as fast and thick as 
could be, hotly pursued by the victorious allies, who chased 
them down the York road for three miles, committing fearful 
slaughter, to which the bullets found long afterwards in the 
heart wood of Wilstrop trees bore silent testimony. Rupert 
himself would have been taken prisoner if he had not hid 
himself in some " bean-lands." He played the " creep- 
hedge," as John Vicars spitefully puts it. The brigade of 
Manchester's foot, under Crawford, advanced by the side of 
the horse, dispersing the enemy's infantry as fast as they 
charged, and utterly routing Rupert's foot regiments, under 
O'Neil, which formed the right of the Royalist line. 

All this time the Scots brigade, forming the centre, was 



122 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

bearing the brunt of the action, and repulsing the assaults 
of Porter's division, led on by Lord Eythin,; while the 
Fairfaxes were suffering a great disaster on the right 

Sir William Fairfax, after crossing the ditch, gallantly led 
his men up Moor-lane through a terrific cross-fire. But, as 
they emerged on the moor in column, they were received 
with murderous volleys from Newcasde's white-coats,3 so 
that there was more slaughter here than on any other part 
of the field. They wavered, and just then large bodies of 
their own flying cavalry, routed by Sir William Urry, 
galloped over them in wild disorder. They were thrown 
into confusion, and, with the two regiments of Scots 
reserves, broke and fled towards Tadcaster. 

At the same time as the foot advanced up Moor-lane, tne 
engagement had commenced between the horse of Fairfax 
and Goring on the extreme right. Sir Thomas was given 
the most diflEicult ground on the whole battle-field. Besides 
several ditches, there was a dense undergrowth of furze in 
that part of the moor, which threw the cavalry into some 
disorder before reaching the enemy. Notwithstanding these 
inconveniences, he saw his right wing properly formed, and 
then, placing himself at the head of his own regiment, 
charged the enemy in most gallant style. He was opposed 
to Sir William Urry's alternate bodies of horse and muske- 
teers, and was a long time hotly engaged at swords' point, 
suffering terribly from the galHng fire of the muskets ; but 
at last he routed this part of the Royalist wing, and his 
regiment chased the fugitives some way along the road to 
York. This was the most desperate fi.ght in the whole 
battle, and many of the officers and men were killed and 
wounded. Sir Thomas himself received a deep sabre cut 
across the cheek, the mark of which he took with him to 
his grave. 

3 So called fro7n the white uniforms Newcastle^ s 7neti wore^ 



MARSTON MOOR. I23 

The left wing of the Royalists was now completely vic- 
torious. Part of the troops galloped up the hill, and began 
plundering the baggage round the clump of trees. The 
rest, consisting of Newcastle's white-coats, and the cavalry 
led by Lucas and Urry, made a furious attack upon the 
right flank of the allied centre, which was already hotly 
engaged with Porter's division in front. The fate of the 
battle now depended upon the valour and steadiness of this 
brigade of four regiments of Scots foot, under General 
Baillie, with its reserves under Lumsdaine. " They had," 
says Principal Baillie, " the greatest burden of the conduct 
of all." If they could hold their own until the left wing 
could come to the rescue, the day was won ; if not, utter 
ruin was inevitable. 

Both sides saw this, and the struggle became desperate. 
One eye-witness declares that there was such noise with 
shot and clamour of shouts, that it was quite deafening, and 
the smoke of the powder was so thick that no light could 
be seen but what preceeded from .the mouths of guns. 
Twice the Royalist cavalry charged furiously, and twice 
were they gallantly repulsed, the Scotch regiments in alternate 
tcrtias of pikes and muskets maintaining their ground for 
nearly an hour. At a third charge they wavered, and some 
of the reserves broke and fled. But Lumsdaine and Lord 
Lindsay rallied two or three regiments, and at that moment 
David Leslie and Manchester's foot appeared on the scene, 
and the day was won. Sir Charles Lucas's horse was 
killed, and he himself taken prisoner when he charged the 
third time. 

When the reserves of the centre broke, the old Earl of 
Leven urged them to stand their ground. " If you fly from 
the enemy," he exclaimed, "at least stand by your general." 
But it was all in vain. They were panic-stricken, and fled ; 
and he, thinking, like Lord Fairfax, that all was lost, fled 



124 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

with them. We can tell the time of his flight by the 
direction he took. Instead of following Lord Fairfax to 
Tadcaster, he turned sharp to the right, because Marston 
Fields were already overrun by the victorious left wing of 
the Royalists, and rode away to Wetherby, or, as some say, 
as far as Leeds. Both Scots and English, friends and 
enemies, seem to have taken special pleasure in retaiUng 
numerous versions of the poor old veteran's mishap or 
mistake, not remembering how ably he formed the line of 
battle, and how hard he strove to rally the fugitives. 

It was at this juncture that the Marquis of Newcastle 
woke up, got out of his coach, and proceeded to join in the 
combat, followed by his brother, a page, and a few gentle- 
men volunteers. He had an independent encounter with a 
pike-man ; and after performing other prodigies of valour, 
was, according to the Duchess, the last to ride off the field, 
leaving his coach and-six behind him. It was taken, with 
all his correspondence, some of which criminated poor Sir 
John Hotham. 

The left wing of the allies heard of the reverses oq the 
right from Sir Thomas Fairfax, when he joined them with 
his regiment as they were chasing the Royalists along 
Wilstrop wood side. He and David Leslie, with Crawford 
and Cromwell, then led the troops across the moor, to the 
support of their centre, now sorely pressed in front and 
flank. When the plundering Royalists saw their approach, 
they hurried down from Marston Fields. For a time the 
renewed conflict was sharp, but it did not last long. The 
Royalist cavalry of their left wing, demoralised by success, 
were routed by Manchester's horse ; while David Leslie and 
the Scots dragoons charged the Royalist foot that still held 
their ground. 

Newcastle's regiment of white-coats resolved to die rather 
than submit, and retreated into White Syke close ; where, as 



TRIAL OF THE KING. 125 

the Duchess describes it, " they showed such extraordinary- 
valour that they were killed as they stood, in rank and file." 
Captain Camby, who came up with some of Manchester's 
horse in support of Leslie, and was one of the first to ent^r 
the close, describes it as " a small parcel of ground ditched 
in." For a whole hour, after the day was utterly lost, did 
these brave border men continue to fight, repulsing the 
charges of the cavalry, and of Colonel Frizell's dragoons, at 
near push of pike. They would take no quarter, and when 
the allied horse did enter the close, there were not thirty 
white-coats alive. Captain Camby protested that " he never, 
in all the fights he was ever in, saw such resolute brave 
fellows, and that he saved two or three against their wills." 
Long before this the battle was won. The horse of Man- 
chester and Leslie charged every party remaining in the field 
until all were fairly routed and put to flight, and by nine 
that night the field was cleared of all but prisoners and dead. 
There would have been many more slain in the heat of the 
pursuit had not Sir Thomas Fairfax galloped up and down, 
calling to the soldiers to spare their enemies. " Spare the 
poor deluded countrymen," he cried ; ''O spare them who are 
misled, and know not what they do." The whole E.oyalist 
army fled in utter rout to York. 



XXV. 

TRIAL OF THE KING. 

FORSTER. 

[Another great overthrow at Naseby completed the ruin of 
the royal armies ; and Charles was at last driven to give 
himself up to the Scots, who surrendered him to the 
Parliament. Strife, however, had now broken out between 
the Parliament and its victorious army, and Charles used 
13 



126 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

this to bring about a fresh and desperate royalist rising, 
which was supported by an army from Scotland, which 
had now turned on his side. All, however, were defeated; 
and in their anger the army, which had now mastered the 
Parliament by driving out the greater part of its members, 
determined that he should be put to death. The House 
of Commons ordered a court to be set up for his trial 
under the Lord President Bradshaw, and to this Charles 
was summoned.! 



The King was brought privately from Windsor to St. 
James's, and on the following morning, the 20th of Januar}^, 
1649, conducted by Colonel Harrison from St. James's to 
Westminster. A scene awaited him there, which called, and 
not in vain, for an exercise of dignity and firmness unsur- 
passed in the history of kings. 

Westminster Hall, fitted up as a "high court of justice " 
received him. In the centre of the court, on a crimson 
velvet chair, sat Bradshaw dressed in a scarlet robe, and 
covered by his famous " broad-brimmed hat ; " with a desk 
and velvet cushion before him ; Say and Lisle on each side 
of him ; and the two clerks of the court sitting below him 
at a table, covered with a rich Turkey carpet, on which 
were laid the sword of state and a mace. The rest of the 
court, with their hats on, and, according to Rushworth, " in 
their best habits," took their seats on side benches hung 
v/ith scarlet. A numerous guard of gentlemen carrying 
partisans divided themselves on each side. Such was the 
simple appearance, in itself of this memorable court. When 
its members had all taken their seats, the great gates of the 
hall were thrown open, and the vast area below was at once 
filled with crowds of the English people, eager to witness 
the astonishing spectacle of a monarch brought to account 
for crimes committed in the period of his delegated authority. 
This presence of the people was the grandest feature of 



TRIAL OF THE KING. 127 

the scene. Surrounding galleries were also filled with 
spectators. 

Charles entered and advanced up the side of the hail 
next the Thames, from the house of Sir Robert Cotton. 
He was attended by Colonels Tomlinson and Hacker, by 
thirty-two officers holding partisans, and by his own ser- 
vants. The serjeant-at-arms, with his mace, received him 
and conducted him to the bar, where a crimson velvet 
chair was placed for him, facing the court. After a stern 
and steadfast gaze on the court, and on the people in the 
galleries on each side of him, Charles placed himself in 
the chair — and the moment after, as if recollecting some- 
thing, rose up, and turned about, looking down the vast 
hall, first on the guards which were ranged on its left or 
western side, and then on the eager waving multitude of 
the people which filled the space on the right. No visible 
emotion escaped him ; but as he turned again, his eye fell 
upon the escutcheon which bore the newly-designed arms 
of the Commonwealth, on each side of which sat Oliver 
Cromwell and Henry Marten, and he sank into his seat. 
The guard attending him divided on each side of the court, 
and the servants who followed him to the bar stood on the 
left of their master. 

Bradshaw now addressed the King, and told him that the 
Commons of England, assembled in parliament, being 
deeply sensible of the evils and calamities which had been 
brought on the nation, and the innocent blood that had 
been spilled, and having fixed on him as the principal 
author, had resolved to make inquisition for this blood, and 
to bring him to trial and judgment ; and had therefore con- 
stituted this court, before which he was brought to hear his 
charge, after which the court would proceed according to 
justice. Coke, then, the solicitor, delivered in, in writing the 
charge, which the clerk read. The King endeavoured to 



128 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

interrupt the reading, but the president commanded the 
clerk to go on, and told Charles, that if he had anything to 
say after, the court would hear him. The charge stated, 
that he, the King, had been intrusted with a limited power 
to govern according to law; being obliged to use that 
power for the benefit of the people, and the preservation 
of their rights and liberties ; but that he had designed to 
erect in himself an unlimited power, and to take away 
the remedy of misgovernment, reserved in the fundamental 
constitution, in the right and power of frequent and suc- 
cessive parliaments. It then proceeded to enumerate the 
principal occasions on which, in execution of his purpose 
of levying war on the present parliament, he had caused 
the blood of many thousands of the free people of this 
nation to be shed : and it affirmed all these purposes and 
this war to have been carried on for the upholding a per- 
sonal interest of ^vill and power, and a pretended preroga- 
tive to himself and his family, against the public interest, 
and common right, liberty, justice, and peace, of the people 
of this nation. — The charge being read, the president 
demanded Charles's answer. 

During the reading Charles is said to have smiled at the 
words '^ tyrant " and " traitor " which occurred in the course 
of it. But, two or three minutes after, a trivial incident 
changed the current of his thoughts, and gave him a more 
awful sense of the situation in which he stood. In touch- 
ing Coke gently on the stioulder with his cane, and bidding 
him '■ Hold,' its gold head dropped off; and he, who was 
accustomed to be served with eager anticipation and slavish 
genuflexion, was left to take it up himself. This omen is 
said to have waked his superstition. It was no less calcu- 
lated to affect him through his reason. 

[After some days the trial drew to its end.] 

The duty of ''preparing the draft of a final sentence, 



TRIAL OF THE KING. 129 

with a blank for the manner of death," was now entrusted 
to Henry Marten (who had attended every day of the trial), 
to Thomas Scot, to Henry Ireton, to Harrison, Say, Lisle, 
and Love. The next day (the 26th of January) this sentence 
was engrossed at a private meeting, and the 27th appointed 
for the last sitting of the court. 

On that memorable and most melancholy day, the King 
was brought for the last time to Westminster Hall. As he 
proceeded along the passages to the court, some of the 
soldiers and of the rabble set up a cry of '' Justice ! " 
" Justice, and execution ! " These men distrusted the 
good faith of their leaders; and, seeing that six days had 
now passed without any conclusion, suspected, as the 
manner of rude and ignorant men is, that there was some 
foul play and treachery. One of the soldiers upon guard 
said, " God bless you, sir." The King thanked him ; but 
his officer struck him with his cane. " The punishment," 
said Charles, " methinks, exceeds the offence." TheJCing, 
when he had retired, asked Herbert, who attended him, 
whether he had heard the cry for justice ; who answered, 
he did, and wondered at it. '* So did not I," said 
Charles : " the cry was no doubt given by their officers, 
for whom the soldiers would do the like, were there 
occasion." 

Placed for the last time at the bar, Charles without wait- 
ing for the address of Bradshaw, whose appearance be- 
tokened judgment, desired of the court, that, before an 
" ugly sentence " was pronounced upon him, he might be 
heard before the two houses of parliament^ he having some- 
thing to suggest which nearly concerned the peace and 
liberty of the kingdom. The court would at once have 
rejected this proposal, (which was in effect tantamount to a 
demand for the reversal of all that had been done, and a 
revocation of the vote that had been passed, declaring the 



130 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

people, under God, the original of all just power, and that 
the Commons house in parliament, as representing the 
people, were the supreme power,) but for the expressed 
dissatisfaction of Commissioner Downes, a timid and insin- 
cere man, in consequence of which the sitting was broken 
up, and the court retired to deliberate in private. They 
returned in half an hour, with an unanimous refusal of the 
request. 

It is supposed by many writers, that Charles purposed, 
in case they had assented, to resign the crown in favour of 
his son. But if so, it has been fairly asked. Why did he not 
make the offer known in some other way ? It would have 
produced its effect as certainly if promulgated in any other 
mode, and would at all events have bequeathed to posterity 
the full knowledge '' to what extremity he was willing to 
advance for the welfare of his people, and to save his 
country from the stain of regicide." The supposition of 
that intention does scarcely, in fact, seem probable. Charles 
had wedded himself to his kingly office, and had now ac- 
customed himself to look on death as the seal that should 
stamp their union and the fame of martyrdom, indelibly and 
for ever. His real purpose in making the request must 
remain a secret, equally with the well-considered motives of 
the commissioners in refusing ft. 

Bradshaw now rose to pronounce the sentence, " What 
sentence," he said, ''the law affirms to a tyrant, traitor, 
and public enemy, that sentence you are now to hear 
read unto you, and that is the sentence of the court." 
The clerk then read it at large from a scroll of vellum. 
After reciting the appointment and purpose of the high 
court, the refusal of the King to acknowledge it, and the 
charges proved upon him, it concluded thus : " for all 
which treasons and crimes, this court doth adjudge that 
he the said Charles Stuart, as a tyrant, traitor, murderer, 



TRIAL OF THE KING. 131 

and public enemy, shall be put to death by severing his 
head from his body." Then Bradshaw again rose and 
said, "The sentence now read and published is the act, 
sentence, judgment, and resolution of the whole court;" 
upon which, ail the commissioners stood up by way 
of declaring their assent. The unhappy King now solicited 
permission to speak, but was refused. The words which 
passed between him and Bradshaw are worthy of record, 
as a most pathetic consummation of the melancholy 
scene. The fortitude and dignity which had sustained 
Charles throughout, appears at last to have somewhat 
given way ; but in its place we recognise a human suffer- 
ing and agony of heart to the last degree affecting. " Will 
you hear me a word, sir ? " he asked. " Sir," replied 
Bradshaw, "you are not to be heard after the sentence." 
" No, sir ? " exclaimed the King. " No, sir, by your 
favour," retorted the president. "Guards, withdraw your 
prisoner." Charles then exclaimed, with a touching 
struggle of deep emotion, " I may speak after the sentence ! 
By your favour, sir ! — I may speak after the sentence ! — 

Ever ! — By your favour " A stern monosyllable from 

Bradshaw interrupted him, — " Hold ! " and signs were 
given to the guards. With passionate entreaty the King 
again interfered. " The sentence, sir ! I say, sir, I 

do " Again Bradshaw said, " Hold ! " and the King 

was taken out of court as these words broke from him — 
"lam not suffered to speak. Expect what justice other 
people will have ! " 



132 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

XXVI. 

EXECUTION OF CHARLES THE FIRST. 

MASSON. 

[Great efforts were made to save the King, but the Commons 
refused to spare his life, and on Tuesday, the thirtieth of 
January, 1649, he was beheaded at Whitehall] 

It was about ten o'clock in the morning when the pro- 
cession was formed, from St. James's, through the Park, 
to Whitehall. With Bishop Juxon 1 on his right hand, 
Colonel Tomlinson on his left, Herbert 2 following close, 
and a guard of halberdiers in front and behind, the King 
walked, at his usual very fast pace, through the Park, 
soldiers lining the whole way, with colours flying and 
drums beating, and such a noise rising from the gathered 
crowd that it was hardly possible for any two in the pro- 
cession to hear each other speak. Herbert had been told 
to bring with him the silver clock or watch that hung 
usually by the King's bedside, and on their way through the 
Park the King asked what o'clock it was and gave Herbert 
the watch to keep. A rude fellow from the mob kept 
abreast with the King for some time, staring at his face as 
if in wonder, till the Bishop had him turned away. There 
is a tradition that, when the procession came to the end of 
the Park, nearj the present passage from Spring Gardens, 
the King pointed to a tree, and said that tree had been 
planted by his brother Henry. 

Arrived at last at the stairs leading into Whitehall, he 
was taken, through the galleries of the Palace, to the bed- 

1 The Bishop of London. 2 Charles s personal attendant. 



EXECUTION OF CHARLES THE FIRST. 133 

chamber he had usually occupied while residing there j 
and here he had some farther time allowed him for rest 
and devotion with Juxon alone. Having sent Herbert 
for some bread and wine, he ate a mouthful of the bread 
and drank a small glass of claret. Here Herbert broke 
down so completely that he felt he could not accompany 
the King to the scaffold, and Juxon had to take from 
him the white satin cap he had brought by the King's 
orders, to be put on at the fatal moment. At last, a little 
after twelve o'clock, Hacker's^ signal was heard outside, 
and Juxon and Herbert went on their knees, affectionately 
kissing the King's hands. Juxon being old and feeble, the 
King helped him to rise, and then, commanding the door 
to be opened, followed Hacker. With soldiers for his 
guard, he was conveyed along some of the galleries of 
the old Palace, now no longer extant, to the New Ban- 
queting Hall, which Inigo Jones had built, and which 
still exists. Besides the soldiers, many men and women 
had crowded into the Hall, from whom, as his Majesty 
passed on, there was heard a general murmur of commis- 
eration and prayer, the soldiers themselves not objecting, 
but appearing grave and respectful. 

Through a passage broken in the wall of the Banqueting 
Hall, or more probably through one of the windows, dis- 
mantled for the purpose, Charles emerged on the scaffold, 
in the open street, fronting the site of the present Horse 
Guards. The scaffold was hung with black, and carpeted 
with black, the block and the axe in the middle ; a number 
of persons already stood upon it, among whom were several 
men with black masks concealing their faces ; in the street 
in front all round the scaffold, were companies of foot and 
horse ; and beyond these, as far as the eye could reach, 

3 Colonel Hacker co77i7iianded the soldiers set apart for the 
guard over the execution. 
13* 



134 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

towards Charing Cross on the one side and Westminster 
Abbey on the other, was a closely packed multitude of 
spectators. The King, walking on the scaffold, looked 
earnestly at the block, and said something to Hacker as if 
he thought it were too low ; after which, taking out a small 
piece of paper, on which he had jotted some notes, he pro- 
ceeded to address those standing near him. 

What he said may have taken about ten minutes or a 
quarter of an hour to deliver, and appears, from the short- 
hand report of it which has been preserved, to have been 
rather incoherent. "Now, Sirs," he said at one point, 
" I must show you both how you are out of the way, 
and I will put you in the way. First, you are out of 
the way ; for certainly all the way you ever have had yet, 
as I could find by anything, is in the way of conquest. 
Certainly this is an ill way ; for conquest, Sirs, in my 
opinion, is never just, except there be a good just cause, 
either for matter of wrong, or just title ; and then, if you 
go beyond it, the first quarrel that you have to it, that 
makes it unjust at the end that was just at first" A little 
farther on, when he had begun a sentence, " For the King 
indeed I will not," a gentleman chanced to touch the axe. 
" Hurt not the axe," he interrupted ; " that may hurt me,'' 
and then resumed. "As for the King, the Laws of the 
Land will clearly instruct you for that : therefore, because 
it concerns my own particular, I only give you a touch of 
it. For the People : and truly I desire their liberty and 
freedom as much as anybody whomsoever ; but I must tell 
you that their liberty and freedom consists of having of 
Government those laws by which their life and their goods 
may be most their own. It is not having share in Govern- 
ment, Sirs ; that is nothing pertaining to them. A subject 
and a sovereign are clean different things ; and therefore, 
until they do that — I mean, that you put the People in 



EXECUTION OF CHARLES THE FIRST. 135 

that liberty, as I say — certainly they will never enjoy them- 
selves." In conclusion he said he would have liked to 
have a little more time, so as to have put what he meant to 
say "in a little more order, and a little better digested," 
and gave the paper containing the heads of his speech to 
Juxon, 

As he had said nothing specially about Religion, Juxon 
reminded him of the omission. " I thank you very heartily, 
my Lord," said Charles, "for that I had almost forgotten 
it. In troth. Sirs, my conscience in Religion, I think it 
very well known to the world ; and therefore I declare 
before you all" that I die a Christian, according to the 
profession of the Church of England as I found it left me 
by my father; and this honest man (the Bishop) I think 
will witness it." There were some more v/ords addressed 
particularly to Hacker, and the other officers ; and once 
more, seeing a gentleman go too near the axe, he called 
out, " Take heed of the axe ; pray take heed of the axe." 
Then, taking the ;white satin cap from Juxon, he put it on, 
and, with the assistance of Juxon and the chief executioner, 
pushed his hair all within it. Some final sentences of pious 
import then passed between the King and Juxon, and the 
King, having taken off his cloak and George, and given the 
latter to Juxon, with the word " Remember," knelt down 
and put his neck on the block. After a second or two he 
stretched out his hands, and the axe descended, severing the 
head from the body at one blow. There was a vast shudder 
through the mob, and then a universal groan. 



136 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

XXVII. 

ESCAPE OF CHARLES THE SECOND. 

GUIZOT. 

[The death of the Kmg was followed by the conquest of 
Ireland and Scotland. Both were wrought by Oliver 
Cromwell, who had done much to win the victories of 
Marston Moor and Naseby, and who became, on the re- 
signation of Fairfax, Lord General of the Parliamentary 
Army. He subdued Ireland by measures of ruthless se- 
verity ; invaded Scotland, which had proclaimed Charles, 
the son of the dead King, as its sovereign ; won a great 
victory at Dunbar, and drove the young " King of Scots," 
as he was called, to march into England, in hope of 
raising a fresh civil war. At Worcester he was overtaken 
by Cromwell, utterly defeated, and driven to flight. He 
first sought shelter at a house in the valley of the Severn.] 

Whiteladies was the first asylum of Charles ; he arrived 
there at daybreak on the fourth of September, scarcely 
twelve hours after having escaped from Worcester. He 
immediately cut off his hair, stained his hands and face, 
and assumed the coarse and threadbare garments of a 
peasant ; and five brothers Penderell, all of them labourers, 
woodmen or domestics in the service of Mr. Giffard, un- 
dertook to secure his safety. " This is the King," said 
Mr. Giffard to William Penderell ; " thou must have a 
care of him, and preserve him as thou didst me." They 
accordingly took Charles to Boscobel House, and con- 
cealed him in the adjoining woods. It was raining heavily: 
Richard Penderell procured a blanket, and spread it for 
the King under one of the largest trees ; while his sister, 
Mrs. Yates, brought a supply of bread, milk, eggs, and 



ESCAPE OF CHARLES THE SECOND. 137 

butter. "Good woman," said Charles to her, "can you 
be faithful to a distressed Cavalier ? " " Yes, Sir," she re- 
phed, " and I will die sooner than betray you." Some 
soldiers passed on the outskirts of the wood, but did not 
enter it, because the storm was more violent over the wood 
than in the open fields. On the next day, the King 
concealed himself among the leafy branches of a large oak, 
and from this cover he could see the soldiers scouring the 
country in search of him. One night he left his hiding- 
place, to endeavour to cross the Severn, and take refuge in 
Wales ; but as he was passing a mill with Richard 
Penderell, his guide, the miller called out, "Who goes 
there ? " " Neighbours going home," answered Penderell. 
" If you be neighbours, stand," cried the miller, " or I will 
knock you down." They fled as fast as they could, and 
were pursued for some time by several men who came out 
of the mill with the miller. In another of their attempts to 
escape, while fording a small river, the King, who was a good 
swimmer, helped his guide across, as he was unable to 
swim. 

He wandered for seven days lin this manner through 
the country, changing his place of refuge almost daily, 
sometimes hidden beneath the hay in a barn, sometimes 
concealed in one of those obscure hiding-places which 
served as a retreat to the proscribed Catholic priests ; hear- 
ing or seeing, at every moment, the republican soldiers 
who had been sent in search of him. In concert with his 
faithful guards, and with Lord Wilmot, who had rejoined 
him, he resolved to make for the sea-coast, near Bristol, in 
the hope of being able to find a vessel to take him over to 
France. He now changed his disguise, assumed a servant's 
Hvery instead of his peasant's garb, and set off on horse- 
back, under the name of William Jackson, carrying behind 
him his mistress. Miss Jane Lane, sister of Colonel Lane, 



138 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

of Bentley, his last place of refuge in Staffordshire, 
" Will," said the colonel to him at starting, " thou must give 
my sister thy hand to help her to mount : " but the King, 
unused to such offices, gave her the wrong hand. "What 
a goodly horseman my daughter has got to ride before 
her," said old Mrs. Lane, the colonel's mother, who was 
watching their departure, though unacquainted with the 
secret. They set off, but they had scarcely ridden two 
hours, when the King's horse cast a shoe, and they halted 
at a little village to get another shoe. "As I was 
holding the horse's foot," says the King in his narrative of 
his escape, " I asked the smith what news. He told me 
that there was no news that he knew of, since the good news 
of the beating of those rogues, the Scots. I asked him 
whether there were none of the English taken that had 
joined with the Scots. He answered that some of them 
were taken, but he did not hear that that rogue, Charles 
Stuart, had been taken yet. I told him that, if that rogue 
were taken, he deserved to be hanged more than all the 
rest, for bringing in the Scots. Upon which he said that I 
spoke like an honest man ; and so we parted." 

On the 13th of September he reached Abbotsleigh, near 
Bristol, the residence of Mr. Norton, a cousin of Colonel 
I.ane. He there learned, to his great sorrow, that there 
was not in the port of Bristol any vessel on board which he 
could embark ; and he was obliged to remain in the house 
four days. Under pretence of indisposition, he was 
indulged in a separate chamber, and by Miss Lane's 
request, particular care was taken of him. He was really 
much harassed and fatigued, though but little incKned to 
endure patiently either hunger or ennui. On the morning 
after his arrival, he rose early, and went to the buttery-hatch 
to get his breakfast, where he found Pope, the butler, and 
two or three other servants ; " and," he says, " we all fell to 



ESCAPE OF CHARLES THE SECOND, 139 

eating bread and butter, to which Pope gave us very good 
ale and sack. As I was sitting there, there was one that 
looked like a country fellow sat just by me, who gave so 
particular an account of the battle of Worcester to the 
rest of the company, that I concluded he must be 
one of Cromwell's soldiers. But I asking him how he 
came to give so good an account of that battle ; he told me 
he was in the King's regiment ; and on questioning him 
further, I perceived that he had been in my regiment of 
guards. I asked him what kind of a man I was ? To which 
he answered by describing exactly both my clothes and my 
horse ; and then looking upon me, he told me that the King 
was at least three fingers taller than I. Upon which I made 
what haste I could out of the buttery, for fear he should 
indeed know me ; being more afraid when I knew he was 
one of our own soldiers, than when I took him for one of 
the enemy's." 

Charles had no sooner returned to his room, than one of 
his companions came to him in great agitation, and said : 
"What shall we do? I am afraid Pope the butler knows 
you, for he says very positively to me that it is you, but I 
have denied it." Charles had already learned that, in 
positions of danger, bold confidence is often no less a 
source of safety than a necessity ; he sent for the butler, 
told him all, and received from him, during his stay at Mr. 
Norton's house, the most intelligent and most devoted 
care. 

But attentions, even when shown most discreetly, some- 
times prove most compromising ; at the end of four days 
Charles had to seek a new asylum : and on the 14th of 
September, he left Abbotsieigh for Trent House, in the 
same county, the residence of Colonel Wyndham, a staunch 
Royalist. In 1636, six years before the outbreak of the 
war between Charles I. and his Parliament, Sir Thomas 



I40 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Wyndham, the Colonel's father, when on the point of death, 
had said to his five sons — " My sons, we have hitherto seen 
serene and quiet times, but now prepare yourselves for 
cloudy and troublesome. I command you to honour and 
obey our gracious sovereign, and in all times to adhere to 
the crown ; and though the crown should hang upon a bush, 
I charge you forsake it not." The injunctions of the dying 
man were obeyed; three of his sons and one of his 
grandsons fell on the battle-field, fighting for Charles I. ; 
and Colonel Wyndham, who had also served with honour 
in the royal army, was, in 1651, a prisoner on parole in his 
own house. He received the King with the utmost devoted- 
ness, and set to work immediately to obtain some means of 
embarkation for him in one of the neighbouring ports. 

[For some timiC, however, these eiforts were fruitless, 
and so close a watch was kept that Charles was forced 
to leave the Dorset coast in despair, and return to Colonel 
Wyndham's.] 

Charles remained for eleven days at Trent House, still 
seeking, but in vain, the means of transport to France. It 
then became necessary for him once more to change his 
residence. Colonel Wyndham was informed that his house 
was becoming more and more suspected ; and ere long, 
troops arrived in the neighbourhood. On the 6th of 
October, the King left Trent House to take refuge at Hele 
House, the residence of Mr. Hyde in Wiltshire ; where he 
would be nearer the small sea-ports of Sussex, at one of 
which his friends hoped to be able to procure him a vessel. 
They at last succeeded in obtaining one, and on the 
morning of the 13th of October, Charles left his last 
hiding-place, escorted by a few faithful friends, who had 
brought their dogs, as if for a coursing expedition on the 
downs. They slept at Hambledon, in Hampshire, at the 
house of a brother-in-law of Colonel Gunter, one of the 



ESCAPE OF CHARLES THE SECOND. 141 

King's guides : and the master of the house, on his return 
home, was astonished to find his table surrounded by 
unknown guests, whose gaiety exceeded the bounds of 
" decent hilarity." The King's cropped hair, and the 
reproof which he administered to the honest squire for a 
casual oath, redoubled his surprise ; he bent towards his 
brother-in-law, and asked if that fellow were not " some- 
round-headed rogue's son." The colonel assured him that 
his suspicions were unfounded, upon which he sat down at 
table with his guests, and gaily drank the King's health 
" in a good glass of beer, calling him brother Roundhead." 
On the following day, the 14th of October, they proceeded 
to Brighthelmstone,^ where they were to meet the master of 
the promised vessel, and the merchant who had engaged it for 
them. They all supped together at the village inn ; during 
the meal, the captain, Anthony Tattersall, scarcely once 
took his eyes off the King ; and after supper he took the 
merchant aside and told him " that he had not dealt fairly 
with him ; for though he had given him a very good price for 
carrying over that gentleman, yet he had not been clear 
with him ; — for," said he, " he is the King, and I very well 
know him to be so." The merchant assured him that he 
was mistaken, but he answered : " No, I am not ; for he 
took my ship, together with other fishing vessels at Bright- 
helmstone, in the year 1648, when he commanded his 
father's fleet ; but be not troubled at it, for I think I do God 
and my country good service in preserving the King, and 
by the grace of God, I will venture my life and all for him, 
and set him safely on shore, if I can, in France." At about 
the same time, at another part of the room, the innkeeper 
came up to the King, who was standing by the fire, with 
his hand resting on the back of a chair, and kissed his hand 
suddenly. " God bless you wheresoever you go ! " he said ; 
^ Then a little fishing, village, now the large town of Brighton. 



142 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

" I do not doubt, before I die, to be a lord, and my wife a 
lady." Charles laughed, and went into another room, 
putting full trust in his host ; and at five o'clock on the 
morning of the 15th of October, the King and Lord 
Wilmot were on board a little vessel of sixty tons, which 
only waited for the tide to leave Shoreham harbour. As 
soon as they were at sea. Captain Tattersall came into the 
cabin where the King was lying, fell on his knees, kissed 
his hand, and protesting his entire devotedness, suggested 
that, in order to prevent all difficulty, he should himself 
persuade the crew, who imagined that they had embarked 
for the English port of Poole, to sail towards the coast of 
France, by representing himself to them as a merchant in 
debt, who was afraid of being arrested in England, and 
wished to recover some money that was owing to him at 
Rouen. Charles willingly acceded to this proposition, and 
tried to ingratiate himself so thoroughly with the sailors, 
that they joined him in requesting the captain to turn aside 
from his course in favour of his passengers. The weather 
was fine and the wind favourable, and at one o'clock in the 
afternoon of the i6th of October, the ship's boat landed the 
King and Lord Wilmot in the little port of Fe'camp. 



XXVIII. 

DRIVING OUT OF LONG PARLIAMENT. 

GUIZOT. 

No sooner v/as all danger from without over than the 
victors quarrelled among themselves. The Parliament 
wished to break up the army, and the army in return re- 
solved to drive out the Parliament if it did not consent to 
dissolve itself, and enable a fresh House of Commons to 



DRIVING OUT OF LONG PARLIAMENT. 143 

be chosen. Quarrels, however, arose over the bill intro- 
duced for this purpose, and Cromwell forcibly carried out 
the army's threat.] 

The House was on the point of coming to a vote ; Vane ^ 
had insisted with such warmth and earnestness on passing 
the bill, that Harrison ^ had deemed it necessary " most 
sweetly and humbly" to conjure his colleagues to pause 
"before they took so important a step. Cromwell left 
Whitehall in haste, followed by Lambert and five or six 
officers ; and commanded a detachment of soldiers to 
inarch round to the House of Commons. On his arrival at 
Westminster, he stationed guards at the doors and in the 
lobby of the House, and led round another body to a 
position just outside the room in which the members were 
seated. He then entered alone, without noise, "clad in 
plain black clothes, with grey worsted stockings,'' as was his 
custom when he was not in uniform. Vane was speaking, 
and passionately descanting on the urgency of the bill. 
Cromwell sat down in his usual place, where he was 
instantly joined by St. John,^ to whom he said, " that he was 
come to do that which grieved him to the very soul, and 
that he had earnestly with tears prayed to God against. 
Nay, that he had rather be torn in pieces than do it ; but 
there was a necessity laid upon him therein, in order to the 
glory of God, and the good of the nation." St. John 
answered, " that he knew not what he meant ; but did pray 
that what it was which must be done, might have a happy 
issue for the general good ; " and so saying, he returned to 
his seat. 

Vane was still speaking, and Cromwell listened to him 
with great attention. He was arguing the necessity of 

1 Sz'r Har7y Vane, a leading statesman of the Lo7ig Parlia- 
ment. '^ General Harrison. ^ Oliver St. John, who 
had taken a leading part in the Parliamefit. 



144 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

proceeding at once to the last stage of the bill, and with 
that view, adjured the House to dispense with the usual 
formalities which should precede its adoption. Cromwell, 
at this, beckoned to Harrison. " Now is the time," he said ; 
" I must do it ! " " Sir," replied Harrison, anxiously, "the 
work is very great and dangerous." "You say well," an- 
swered Cromwell, and sat still for another quarter of an 
hour. Vane ceased speaking ; the Speaker rose to put the 
question, when Cromwell stood up, took off his hat, and 
began to speak. At first he expressed himself in terms of 
commendation of the Parliament, and its members, praising 
their zeal and care for the public good ; but gradually his 
tone changed, his accents and gestures became more 
violent ; he reproached the members of the House with 
their delays, their covetousness, their self-interest, their 
disregard for justice. " You have no heart to do anything 
for the public good," he exclaimed ; " your intention was to 
perpetuate yourselves in power. But your time is come ! 
The Lord has done with you ! He has chosen other 
instruments for the carrying on His work, that are more 
worthy. It is the Lord hath taken me by the hand, and set 
me on to do this thing." Vane, Wentworth, and Martyn ^ 
rose to reply to him, but he would not suffer them to speak. 
"You think, perhaps," he said, "that this is not parlia- 
mentary language ; I know it ; but expect no other language 
from me." Wentworth at length made himself heard ; he 
declared that this " was indeed the first time that he had 
ever heard such unbecoming language given to the Parlia- 
ment ; and that it was the more horrid, in that it came 
from their servant, and their servant whom they had so 
highly trusted and obliged, and whom, by their unpre- 
cedented bounty, they had made what he was." Cromwell 
thrust his hat upon his head, sprang from his seat into the 
* Henry Martyn, one of the judges of the King. 



DRIVING OUT OF LONG PARLIAMENT. 145 

centre of the floor of the House, and shouted out, " Come, 
come, we have had enough of this ; I'll put an end to your 
prating — Call them in ! " he added briefly to Harrison ; the 
door opened, and twenty or thirty musketeers entered, 
under the command of Lieutenant- Colonel Worsley. 

" You are no Parliament," cried Cromwell ; "I say, 
you are no Parliament ! Begone ! Give way to honester 
men." He walked up and down the floor of the House, 
stamping his foot, and giving his orders. " Fetch him 
down," he said to Harrison, pointing to the Speaker, who 
still remained in his chair. Harrison told him to come 
down, but Lenthall refused. " Take him down," repeated 
Cromwell ; Harrison laid his hand on the Speaker's gown, 
and he came down immediately. Algernon Sidney^ was 
sitting near the Speaker. ''Put him out," said Cromwell to 
Harrison. Sidney did not move. "Put him out," reiter- 
ated Cromwell. Harrison and Worsley laid their hands on 
Sidney's shoulders, upon which he rose and walked out. 
" This is not honest," exclaimed Vane ; " it is against 
morality and common honesty ! " " Sir Harry Vane ! Sir 
Harry Vane ! " replied Cromwell ; " you might have 
prevented this extraordinary course; but you are a juggler, 
and have not so much as common honesty. The Lord 
deliver me from Sir Harry Vane ! " And, amidst the 
general confusion as the members passed out before him, 
he flung nicknames in the face of each. " Some of you are 
drunkards !" he said, pointing to Mr. Challoner ; " some of 
you are adulterers ! " and he looked at Sir Peter Wentworth ; 
" some of you are corrupt unjust persons ! " and he glanced 
at Whitelocke and others. 

He went up to the table on which the mace lay, which 
was carried before the Speaker, and called to the soldiers, 
" What shall we do with this bauble ? here, take it away." 
^ Afterwards put to death uiider Charles the Second. 



146 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

He frequently repeated : " It is you that have forced me to 
this, for I have sought the Lord night and day, that He 
would rather slay me than put me upon the doing of this 
work." Alderman Allen told him, "That it was not yet 
gone so far, but all things might be restored again ; and 
that if the soldiers were commanded out of the House, and 
the mace returned, the public affairs might go on in their 
course." Cromwell rejected this advice, and called Allen 
to account for some hundred thousand pounds which, as 
Treasurer of the army, he had embezzled. Allen replied, 
'* That it was well known that it had not been his fault that 
his account was not made up long since ; that he had often 
tendered it to the House, and that he asked no favour from 
any man in that matter." Cromwell ordered him to be 
arrested, and he was led off by the soldiers. The roohi 
was now empty ; he seized all the papers, took the 
Dissolution-Bill from the Clerk, and put it under his cloak : 
after which he left the House, ordered the doors to be shut, 
and returned to Whitehall. 

At Whitehall, he found several of his officers, who had 
remained there to wait the event. He related to them what 
he had done at the House. " When I went there," he 
said, " I did not think to have done this. But, perceiving 
the Spirit of God so strong upon me, I would not consult 
flesh and blood." A few hours later, in the afternoon, he 
was informed that the Council of State had just assembled 
in its ordinary place of meeting, in Whitehall itself, under 
the presidency of Bradshaw. He went to them immediately, 
followed only by Harrison and Lambert. " Gentlemen," 
he said, ' ' if you are met here as private persons, you shall 
not be disturbed ; but if as a Council of State, this is no 
place for you ; and since you can't but know what was done 
at the House this morning, so take notice that the Parlia- 
ment is dissolved." ''Sir," answered Bradshaw, "we have 



DEATH OF CROMWELL. 147 

heard what you did at the House in the morning, and before 
many hours all England will hear it. But, Sir, you are 
mistaken to think that the Parliament is dissolved ; for no 
power under heaven can dissolve them but themselves. 
Therefore take you notice of that." All then rose and left 
the room. On the following day, the 21st of April, this an- 
nouncement appeared in the Mercurius FoHticus,^ which 
had become Cromwell's journal : " The Lord-General de- 
livered yesterday in Parliament divers reasons wherefore 
a present period should be put to the sitting of this Parlia- 
ment, and it was accordingly done, the Speaker and the 
members all departing. The grounds of which proceedings 
will, it is probable, be shortly made public." And, on the 
same day, a crowd collected at the door of the House to 
read a large placard which had probably been placed there 
during the night by some Cavalier who was overjoyed at 
finding his cause avenged on the repubhcans by a regicide j^ 
it bore this inscription : 

''This House to be let unfurnished." 



XXIX. 

DEATH OF CROMWELL. 
GUIZOT. 

[After the expulsion of the Commons, England really lay in 
the power of the army : and its general, Oliver Cromwell, 
became ruler of the country with the title of Lord 
Protector. Cromwell was a man of great genius ; and 
he made the name of England feared abroad by great 
victories, both on land and sea. But at home he failed 
to reconcile the nation to what was after all but a military 

^ One of the earliest English newspapers. ^ The judge-i 

on the Ki7tg's trial ivere called by the royalists regicides. 



148 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

rule; and the Parliament he summoned demanded the 
restoration of the old liberties of England. It was to 
bring back the constitution and restore the rule of law that 
the Commons at last offered Cromwell the title of King. 
But he was forced by the army to refuse it ; and soon after 
a fever brought him to the grave.] 



It was no mere pedantry, still less was it vulgar flattery, 
which influenced the Parliament in their offer to Cromwell 
of tlie title of King. The experience of the last few years 
had taught the nation the value of the traditional forms un- 
der which its liberties had grown up. A king was limited by 
constitutional precedents. " The king's prerogative," it was 
well urged, " is under the courts of justice, and is bounded 
as well as any acre of land, or anything a man hath." A 
Protector, on the other hand, was new in our history and 
there were no traditional means of limiting his power. ''The 
one office being lawful in its nature," said Glynne,^ " known 
to the nation, certain in itself, and confined and regulated 
by the law, and the other not so — that was the great ground 
why the Parliament did so much insist on this office and 
title." Under the name of monarchy indeed the question 
really at issue between the party headed by the officers 
and the party led by the lawyers in the Commons was that 
of the restoration of constitutional and legal rule. The 
proposal was carried by an overwhelming majority, but a 
month passed in endless consultations between the Parlia- 
ment and the Protector. His good sense, his knowledge of 
the general feeling of the nation, his real desire to obtain a 
settlement which should secure the ends for which Puritan- 
ism had fought, political and religious liberty, broke, in con- 
ference after conference, through a mist of words. But his 
real concern throughout was with the temper of the army. 
To Cromwell his soldiers were no common swordsmen. 
^ Glynne was one of the leaders in the Parliament. 



DEATH OF CROMWELL. 149 

They were "godly men,.men that will not be beaten down by 
a worldly and carnal spirit while they keep their integrity," 
men in whose general voice he recognized the voice of God. 
" They are honest and faithful men," he urged, "true to the 
great things of the Government. And though it is really no 
part of their goodness to be unwilling to submit to what a 
Parliament shall settle over them, yet it is my duty and con- 
science to beg of you that there may be no hard things 
put upon them which they cannot swallow. I cannot think 
God would bless an undertaking of anything which would 
justly and with cause grieve them." The temper of the 
army was soon shown. Its leaders with Lambert, Fleetwood, 
and Desborough^ at their head, placed their commands in 
Cromwell's hands. A petition from the officers to' Parlia- 
ment demanded the withdrawal of the proposal to restore 
the monarchy, " in the name of the old cause for which 
they had bled." Cromwell at once anticipated the coming 
debate on this petition, a debate which might have led 
to an open breach between the army and the Commons, 
by a refusal of the crown. "I cannot undertake this 
government," he said, " with that title of king ; and that is 
my answer to this great and weighty business." 

Disappointed as it was, the Parliament with singular self- 
restraint turned to other modes of bringing about its 
purpose. The offer of the crown had been coupled with 
the condition of accepting a Constitution, which was a 
modification of the Instrument of Government^ adopted 
by the Parliament of 1654, and this Constitution Cromwell 
emphatically approved. "The things provided by this Act 
of Government," he owned, " do secure the liberties of the 
people of God as they never before have had them." With 
a change of the title of king into that of Protector, the Act 

2 The leading generals in the army, after Cromwell. 
^ A plan originally drawn up by the officers of the army for 
the new 7nle after the kin^''s death. 
14 



I50 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

of Government became law : and the solemn inauguration 
of the Protector by the Parliament was a practical acknow- 
ledgement on the part of Cromwell of the illegality of his 
former rule. In the name of the Commons the Speaker 
invested him with a mantle of state, placed the sceptre in his 
hand, and girt the sword of justice by his side. By the new 
Act of Government Cromwell was allowed to name his own 
successor, but in all after cases the office was to be an 
elective one. In every other respect the forms of the older 
Constitution were carefully restored. ParUament was again 
to consist of two Houses, the seventy members of the other 
House being named by the Protector. Thp Commons 
regained their old right of exclusively deciding on the quali- 
fication of their members. Parliamentary restrictions were 
imposed on the choice of members of the Council, and 
officers of the state or of the anny. A fixed revenue was 
voted to the Protector, and it was provided that no moneys 
should be raised but by assent of Parliament. Liberty of 
worship was secured for all but Papists, Prelatists,^ Socinians 
or those who denied the inspiration of the Scriptures, and 
liberty of conscience was secured to all. 

The excluded members were again admitted when the 
Parliament reassembled after an adjournment of six months ; 
and the hasty act of Cromwell in giving his nominees in 
" the other House " the title of Lords kindled a quarrel 
which was busily fanned by Haselrig,^ But while the 
Houses v\'ere busy with their squabble the hand of death 
was falling on the Protector. He had long been weary 
of his task. '• God knows," he burst out a little time 
before to the Parliament, " I would have been glad to have 
lived under my woodside, and to have kept a flock of sheep, 
rather than to have undertaken this government." And 
now to the weariness of power was added the weakness 

■* Episcopaliajis of the Church of England^ielieved to be dis' 
affected to the new s,over7iment. ^ A leading republican. 



DEATH OF CROMWELL. 151 

and feverish impatience of disease. Vigorous and ener- 
getic as his hfe had seemed, his health was by no means 
as strong as his will ; he had been struck down by inter- 
mittent fever in the midst of his triumphs both in Scotland 
and in Ireland, and during the past year he had suffered 
from repeated attacks of it. '* I have some infirmities 
upon me," he owned twice over in his speech at the 
opening of the Parliament ; and his feverish irritability was 
quickened by the public danger. No supplies had been 
voted, and the pay of the army was heavily in arrear, while 
its temper grew more and more sullen at the appearance of' 
the new Constitution and the reawakening of the Royalist 
intrigues. The continuance of the Parliamentary strife 
threw Cromwell at last, says an observer at his court, 
" into a rage and passion like unto madness." Summon- 
ing his coach, by a sudden impulse, the Protector drove 
with a few guards to Westminster ; and, setting aside the 
remonstrances of Fleetwood, summoned the two Houses 
to his presence. "I do dissolve this Parliament,'' he 
ended a speech of angry rebuke, " and let God be judge 
between you and me." 

Fatal as was the error, for the moment all went well. 
The army was reconciled by the blow levelled at its oppo- 
nentSj and the few murmurers were weeded from its ranks 
by a careful remodelling. The triumphant officers vowed to 
stand or fall with his Highness. The danger of a Royalist 
rising vanished before a host of addresses from the counties. 
Great news too came from abroad, where victory in Flanders, 
and the cession of Dunkirk, set the seal on Cromwell's 
glory. But the fever crept steadily on, and his looks told 
the tale of death to the Quaker, Fox,^ who met him riding 
in Hampton Court Park. " Before I came to him," he says, 
" as he rode at the head of his Life Guards, I saw and felt 
a waft of death go forth against him, and when I came to 
6 George Fox, the founder of the sect of Quakers. 



152 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

him he looked like a dead man." In the midst of his 
triumph Cromwell's heart was in fact heavy with the sense 
of failure. He had no desire to play the tyrant ; nor had 
he any belief in the permanence of a mere tyranny. He 
had hardly dissolved the Parliament before he was planning 
the summons of another, and angry at the opposition which 
his Council offered to the project. " I will take my own 
resolutions," he said gloomily to his household ; " I can no 
longer satisfy myself to sit still, and make myself guilty of 
the loss of all the honest party and of the nation itself" But 
before his plans could be realized the overtaxed strength of 
the Protector suddenly gave way. He saw too clearly the 
chaos into which his death would plunge England to be 
willing to die. " Do not think I shall die," he burst out 
with feverish energy to the physicians who gathered round 
him ; " say not" I have lost my reason ! I tell you the 
truth. I know it from better authority than any you can 
have from Galen or Hippocrates. It is the answer of God 
Himself to our prayers ! '' Prayer indeed rose from every 
side for his recovery, but death drew steadily nearer, till 
even Cromwell felt that his hour was come. " I would be 
willing to live," the dying man murmured, "to be further 
serviceable to God and His people, but my work is done ! 
Yet God will be with His people ! " A storm which tore 
roofs from houses, and levelled huge trees in every forest, 
seemed a fitting prelude to the passing away of his mighty 
spirit. Three days later, on the third of September, the 
day which had witnessed his victories of Worcester and 
Dunbar, Cromwell quietly breathed his last. 



END OF PART II. 



READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 
PART TIL 

FROM CROMWELL TO BALACLAVA. 



PROSE READINGS 
FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

PART III. 
I. 

THE RESTORATION. 
MACAULAY. 

[The death of Cromwell brought the rule of Puritanism to an 
end. The divisions of tlie army whicli occupied the 
three realms quarrelled among themselves ; and -the na- 
tion took advantage of their strife to set up again the old 
system of government, and to recall Charles the Second 
to the throne. No political change was ever welcomed 
with so much joy as this restoration of the monarchy, for 
in it men saw the restoration of law and the overthrow of 
a rule of the sword.] 

If we had to choose a lot from among all the multitude 
of those which men have drawn since the beginning of the 
world, we would select that of Charles the Second on the 
day of his return. He was in a situation in which the 
dictates of ambition comcided with those of benevolence, 
in which it was easier to be virtuous than to be wicked, to 
be loved than to be hated, to earn pure and imperishable 
glory than to become infamous. For once the road of 



2 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY, 

goodness was a smooth descent. He had done nothing to 
merit the affection of his people. But they had paid him 
in advance without measure. Elizabeth, after the destruc- 
tion of the Armada, or after the abolition of monopolies, had 
not excited a thousandth part of the enthusiasm with which 
the young exile was welcomed home. He was not like 
Lewis the Eighteenth,^ imposed on his subjects by foreign 
conquerors ; nor did he, like Lewis the Eighteenth, come 
back to a country which had undergone a complete change. 
Happily for Charles, no European state, even when at war 
with the Commonwealth, had chosen to bind up its cause 
with that of the wanderers who were playing in the garrets 
of Paris and Cologne at being princes and chancellors.^ 
Under the administration of Cromwell, England was more 
respected and dreaded than any power in Christendom, 
and even under the ephemeral governments which followed 
his death no foreign state ventured to treat her with con- 
tempt. Thus Charles came back, not as a mediator between 
his people and a victorious enemy, but as a mediator be- 
tween internal factions. He found the Scotch Covenanters 
and the Irish Papists alike subdued. Lie found Dunkirk 
and Jamaica added to the empire.^ He was heir to the 
conquests and to the influence of the able usurper who had 
excluded him. 

The old government of England, as it had been far 
milder than the old government of France, had been far less 
violently and completely subverted. The national institu- 
tions had been spared or imperfectly eradicated. The laws 
had undergone little alteration. The tenures of the soil 

^ The French king -who was set on the throjie after the over- 
throw of Napoleon by the Europeaji powers, ^ During his 
exile Charles had called himself ki7tg, appointed ministers, and 
the like. ^ famaica had been taken by an English fleet; 
Dmtkirk taken as the price of the aid of an English army in 
the war of France aj^ainst Spain. 



THE RESTORATION. 3 

were still to be learned from Littleton and Coke.'* The 
Great Charter was mentioned with as much reverence in 
the Parliaments of the Commonwealth as in those of any- 
earlier or of any later age. A new confession of faith and 
a new ritual had been introduced into the Church. But the 
bulk of the ecclesiastical property still remained. The 
colleges still held their estates. The parson still received 
his tithes. The Lords had, at a crisis of great excitement, 
been excluded by military violence from their house ; but 
they retained their titles and an ample share of the public 
veneration. When a nobleman made his appearance in the 
House of Commons he was received with ceremonious 
respect. Those few peers who consented to assist at the 
inauguration of the Protector were placed next to himself, 
and the most honourable offices of the day were assigned 
to them. We learn from the debates in Richard's Parlia- 
ment how strong a hold the old aristocracy had on the 
affections of the people. One member of the House of 
Commons went so far as to say that, unless their Lordships 
were peaceably restored, the country might soon be con- 
vulsed by a war of the Barons. 

There was indeed no great party hostile to the Upper 
House. There was nothing exclusive in the constitution of 
that body. It was regularly recruited from among the most 
distinguished of the country gentlemen, the lawyers, and the 
clergy. The most powerful nobles of the century which 
preceded the civil war, the Duke of Somerset, the Duke of 
Northumberland, Lord Seymour of Sudely, the Earl of 
Leicester. Lord Burleigh, the Earl of Salisbury, the Duke of 
Buckingham, the Earl of Strafford had all been commoners, 
and had all raised themselves by courtly arts or by parUa- 
mentary talents, not merely to seats in the House of Lords, 
but to the first influence in that assembly. Nor had the 

^ Comi)eiidmms of English lazv at the twie. 
14* 



4 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

general conduct of the Peers been such as to make them 
unpopular. They had not, indeed, in opposing arbitrary 
measures shown so much eagerness and pertinacity as the 
Commons. But still they had opposed those measures. 
They had, at the beginning of the discontents, a common 
interest with the people. If Charles ^ had succeeded in his 
plan of governing without parliaments, the consequence of the 
Peers would have been grievously diminished. If he had been 
able to raise taxes by his own authority, the estates of the 
Peers would have been as much at his mercy as those of the 
merchants or of the farmers. If he had obtained the power 
of imprisoning his subjects at his pleasure, a Peer ran far 
greater risk of incurring the royal displeasure, and of being 
accommodated with apartments in the Tower, than any city 
trader or country squire. Accordingly Charles found that 
the Great Council of Peers which he convoked at York ^ 
would do nothing for him. In the most useful reforms 
which were made during the first session of the Long Par- 
liament, the Peers concurred heartily with the Lower House, 
and a large and powerful minority of the English nobles 
stood by the popular side through the first years of the war. 
At Edgehill, Newbury, Marston, and Naseby, the armies of 
the Parliament were commanded by members of the aristo- 
cracy. It was not forgotten that a Peer had imitated the 
example of Hampden in refusing the payment of the ship 
money, or that a Peer had been among the six members 
of the legislature -whom Charles illegally impeached. 

Thus the old constitution of England was without diffi- 
culty re-established ; and of all the parts of the old constitu- 
tion, the monarchical part was, at the time, dearest to the 
body of the people. It had been injudiciously depressed, 
and it w^as in consequence unduly exalted. From the day 

^ Charles the First. ^ Before the sn7nmo7iing again of 

his Farliametit. 



THE RESTORATION. 5 

when Charles the First became a prisoner had commenced 
a reaction in favour of his person and of his office. From 
the day when the axe fell on his neck before the windows of 
his palace, that reaction became rapid and violent. At the 
Restoration it had attained such a point that it could go no 
further. The people were ready to place at the mercy of 
their sovereign all their most ancient and precious rights. 
The most servile doctrines were publicly avowed. The most 
moderate and constitutional opposition was condemned. 
Resistance was spoken of with more horror than any crime 
which a human being can commit. The Commons were 
more eager than the King himself to avenge the wrongs of 
the royal house : more desirous than the bishops themselves 
to restore the Church ; more ready to give money than the 
ministers to ask for it. They abrogated the excellent lav/ 
passed in the first session of the Long Parliament, with the 
general consent of all honest men, to ensure the frequent 
meeting of the Great Council of the nation. They might 
probably have been induced to go further, and to restore 
the High Commission and the Star Chamber. All the con- 
temporary accounts represent the nation as in a state of 
hysterical excitement, of drunken joy. In the immense 
multitude which crowded the beach at Dover, and bordered 
the road along which the King travelled to London, there 
was not one who was not weeping. Bonfires blazed. Bells 
jangled. The streets were thronged at night by boon-com- 
panions, who forced all the passers-by to swallow on bended 
knees brimming glasses to the health of his Most Sacred 
Majesty, and the damnation of Red-nosed Noll''' That 
tenderness to the fallen which has through many generations 
been a marked feature of the national character, was for a 
time hardly discernible. All London crowded to shout and 

7 Oliver CromwelL 



6 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

laugh round the gibbet ^ where hung the rotting remains of 
a prince who had made England the dread of all the world, 
who had been the chief founder of her maritime greatness, 
and of her colonial empire, who had conquered Scotland 
and Ireland, who had humbled Holland and Spain, the 
terror of whose name had been as a guard round every Eng- 
lish traveller in remote countries, and round every Protes- 
tant congregation in the heart of Catholic empires. When 
some of those brave and honest, though misguided men, 
who had sate in judgement on their King were dragged on 
hurdles to a death of prolonged torture, their last prayers 
were interrupted by the hisses and execrations of thousands. 



II. 

CHARLES THE SECOND. 
GREEN. 

[All the moral change which Puritanism had striven to 
bring about disappeared with its fall; and piety and 
right conduct were trampled under foot by the nobles 
and courtiers who surrounded the new king. The most 
dissolute man in the realm was Charles the Second himself] 



To all outer seeming Charles was the most consummate of 
idlers. " He delighted," says one of his courtiers, " in a 
bewitching kind of pleasure called sauntering." The busi- 
ness-like Pepys ^ soon discovered that " the King do myid 
nothing but pleasure, and hates the very sight or thoughts 

^ Cro7nweirs body was torn froin its grave and hanged on the 
gibbet at Tyburn. ^ A71 official whose diary tells us much 

of the time. 



CHARLES THE SECOND. 7 

of business." He only laughed when Tom Killigrew frankly 
told him that badly as things were going there was one man 
whose employment would soon set them right, ''and this is 
one Charles Stuart, who now spends his time in employing 
his lips about the court, and hath no other employment." 
That Charles had great natural parts no one doubted. In 
his earlier days of defeat and danger he showed a cool 
courage and presence of mind which never failed him in 
the many perilous moments of his reign. His temper was 
pleasant and social ; his manners perfect, and there was a 
careless freedom and courtesy in his address which won over 
everybody who came into his presence. His education, 
indeed, had been so grossly neglected that he could hardly 
read a plain Latin book; but his natural quickness and 
intelligence showed itself in his pursuit of chymistry and 
anatomy, and in the interest he showed in the scientific 
inquiries of the Royal Society. Like Peter the Great, his 
favourite study was that of naval architecture, and he piqued 
himself on being a clever shipbuilder. He had some little 
love, too, for art and poetry, and a taste for music. But his 
shrewdness and vivacity showed itself most in his endless 
talk. He was fond of telling stories, and he told them with 
a good deal of grace and humour. His humour, indeed, 
never forsook him ; even on his death-bed he turned to the 
weeping courtiers around him and whispered an apology 
for having been so unconscionable a time in dying. He 
held his own fairly with the wits of his court, and bandied 
repartees on equal terms with Sedley or Buckingham. Even 
Rochester in his merciless epigram was forced to own that 
'* Charles never said a foolish thing." He had inherited in 
fact his grandfather's gift of pithy sayings, and his cynical 
irony often gave an amusing turn to them. When his brother, 
the most unpopular man in England,^ solemnly warned him 
2 James, Duke of York, afterwards James the Second. 



8 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

of plots against his life, Charles laughingly bid him set all 
fear aside. " They will never kill me, James," he said, " to 
make you king." 

,But courage, and wit, and ability seemed to have been 
bestowed on him in vain. Charles hated business. He 
gave no sign of ambition. The one thing he seemed in 
earnest about was sensual pleasure, and he took his plea- 
sure witli a cynical shamelessness which roused the disgust 
even of his shameless courtiers. Mistress followed mistress, 
and the guilt of a troop of profligate women was blazoned 
to the world by the gift of titles and estates. The royal 
bastards were set amongst English nobles. The ducal house 
of Grafton springs from the king's adultery with Barbara 
Palmer, whom he created Duchess of Cleveland. The 
Dukes of St. Albans owe their origin to his intrigue with Nell 
Gwynn, a player and a courtezan. Louise de Querouaille, 
a mistress sent by France to win him to its interests, became 
Duchess of Portsmouth, an ancestress of the house of 
Richmond. An earlier mistress, Lucy Walters, had made 
him father in younger days of the boy whom he raised to 
the dukedom of Monmouth, and to whom the Dukes of 
Buccleuch trace their line. But Charles was far from being 
content with these recognised mistresses, or with a single 
form of self-indulgence. Gambling and drinking helped to 
fill up the vacant moments when he could no longer toy 
with his favourites or bet at Newmarket. No thought of 
remorse or of shame seems ever to have crossed his mind. 
" He could not think God would make a man miserable," 
he said once, ''only for taking a little pleasure out of the 
way." From shame, indeed, he was shielded by his cynical 
disbelief in human virtue. Virtue he regarded simply as a 
trick by which clever hypocrites imposed upon fools. 
Honour among men seemed to him as mere a pretence as 
chastity among women. Gratitude he had none, for he 



CHARLES THE SECOND. 9 

looked upon self-interest as the only motive of men's actions, 
and though soldiers had died and women had risked their 
lives for him, he ''loved others as little as he thought they 
loved him." But if he felt no gratitude for benefits he felt 
no resentment for wrongs. He was incapable either of love 
or of hate. The only feeling he retained for his fellow-men 
was that of an amused contempt. 

It was difficult for Englishmen to believe that any real 
danger to liberty could come from an idler and a voluptuary 
such as Charles the Second. But in the very difficulty of 
believing this lay half the king's strength. He had in fact 
no taste whatever for the despotism of the Stuarts who had 
gone before him. His shrewdness laughed his grandfather's 
theories of Divine Right down the wind. His indolence 
made such a personal administration as that which his father 
delighted in burthensome to him : he was too humorous a 
man to care for the pomp and show of power, and too good- 
natured a man to play the tyrant. He told Lord Essex 
" that he did not wish to be like a Grand Signior, with some 
mutes about him, and bags of bowstrings to strangle men ; 
but he did not think he was a king so long as a company of 
fellows were looking into his actions and examining his 
ministers as well as his accounts. A king," he thought, 
"who might be checked, and have his ministers called to 
account, was but a king in name." In other words he had 
no settled plan of tyranny, but he meant to rule as indepen- 
dently as he could, and from the beginning to the end of his 
reign there never was a moment when he was not doing 
something to carry out his aim. But he carried it out in a 
tentative, irregular fashion which it was as hard to detect as 
to meet. Whenever there was any strong opposition he 
gave way. If popular feeling demanded the dismissal of his 
ministers, he dismissed them. If it protested against his 
Declaration of Indulgence he recalled it. If it called for 



lo PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

victims in the frenzy of the Popish Plot, he gave it victims 
till the frenzy was at an end. 

It was easy for Charles to yield and to wait, and just as 
easy for him to take up the thread of his purpose again the 
moment the pressure was over. The one fixed resolve 
which overrode every other thought in the king's mind was 
a resolve " not to set out on his travels again." His father ^ 
had fallen through a quarrel with the two Houses, and 
Charles was determined to remain on good terms with the 
Parliament till he was strong enough to pick a quarrel to 
his profit. He treated the Lords with an easy familiarity 
which robbed opposition of its seriousness. "Their de- 
bates amused him," he said, in his indolent way ; and he 
stood chatting before the fire while peer after peer poured 
invectives on his ministers, and laughed louder than the rest 
when Shaftesbury directed his coarsest taunts at the barren- 
ness of the queen. Courtiers were entrusted with the 
secret " management " of the Commons : obstinate country 
gentlemen were brought to the royal closet to kiss the king's 
hand, and listen to the king's pleasant stories of his escape 
after Worcester ; and yet more obstinate country gentlemen 
were bribed. Where bribes, flattery, and management 
failed, Charles was content to yield and to wait till his time 
came again. 

3 Charles the First. 



"THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS." il 

III. 

*'THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS." 

GREEN. 

[One of the most fatal results of the Restoration of Charles 
to the throne was the loss of religious liberty. Laws were 
made which required all Englishmen to conform to the 
episcopal Church, and punished those who attended the 
worship of any other religious body with imprisonment. 
Among the ministers who were thus punished was John 
Bunyan. the writer of "The Pilgrim's Progress."] 

John Bunyan was the son of a poor tinker at El stow in 
Bedfordshire. Even in childhood his fancy revelled in 
terrible visions of heaven and hell. " When I was but a child 
of nine or ten years old/' he tells us, " these things did so 
distress my soul, that then in the midst of my merry sports 
and childish vanities, amidst my vain companions, I was 
often much cast down and afflicted in my mind therewith ; 
yet could I not let go my sins." The sins he could not let 
go were a love of hockey and of dancing on the village 
green ; for the only real fault which his bitter self-accusation 
discloses, that of a habit of swearing, was put an end to at 
once and for ever by a rebuke from an old woman. His 
passion for bell-ringing clung to him even after he had 
broken from it as a "vain practice;" and he would go to 
the steeple-house ^ and look on, till the thought that a bell 
might fall and crush him in his sins drove him panic-stricken 
from the door. A sermon against dancing and games drew 
him for a time from these indulgences ; but the temptation 
again overmastered his resolve. " I shook the sermon out of 
my mind, and to my old custom of sports and gaming I 
^ T/ie churchy 



la PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

returned with great delight. But the same day, as I was in 
the midst of a game of cat, and having struck it one blov/ 
from the hole, just as I was about to strike it the second 
time a voice did suddenly dart from heaven into my soul, 
which said, ' Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to heaven, or 
have thy sins and go to hell ? ' At this I was put in an 
exceeding maze ; wherefore, leaving my cat upon the ground 
I looked up to heaven ; and was as if I had with the eyes 
of my understanding seen the Lord Jesus looking down 
upon me, as being very hotly displeased with me, and as if 
He did severely threaten me with some grievous punishment 
for those and other ungodly practices." 

It was in this atmosphere of excited feeling that the youth 
of Bunyan was spent. From his childhood he heard hea- 
venly voices, and saw visions of heaven ; from his childhood, 
too, he had been wrestling with this overpowering sense of 
sin, which sickness and repeated escapes from death did 
much, as he grew up, to deepen. But in spite of his self- 
reproaches, his life was a religious one ; and the purity and 
sobriety of his youth was shown by his admission at seven- 
teen into the ranks of the " New Model." ^ Two years later 
the war ^ was over, and Bunyan found himself married before 
he was twenty to a " godly " wife, as young and as poor as 
himself. So poor were the young couple that they could 
hardly muster a spoon and a plate between them ; and the 
poverty of their home deepened, perhaps, the gloom of the 
young tinker's restlessness and religious depression. His 
wife did what she could to comfort him, teaching him again 
to read and write, for he had forgotten his school-learning, 
and reading with him in two little " godly " books, which 
formed his library. But the darkness only gathered the 
thicker round his imaginative soul. " I walked,^' he tells 
us of this time, " to a neighbouring town, and sate down 
2 The Puritan army, ^ Against Charles the First. 



"THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS." 13 

upon a settle in the street, and fell into a very deep 
pause about the most fearful state my sin had brought me 
to ; and after long musing I lifted up my head ; but me- 
thought I saw as if the sun that shineth in the heavens did 
grudge to give me light ; and as if the very stones in the 
street and tiles upon the houses did band themselves 
against me. Methought that they all combined together to 
banish me out of the world. I was abhorred of them, and 
wept to dwell among them, because I had sinned against 
the Saviour. Oh, how happy now was every creature 
over I ! for they stood fast and kept their station. But I 
was gone and lost." 

At last, after more than two years of this struggle, the 
darkness broke. Bunyan felt himself ''converted," and 
freed from the burthen of his sin. He joined a Baptist 
church at Bedford, and a few years later he became famous 
as a preacher. As he held no formal post of minister in the 
congregation his preaching even under the Protectorate * was 
illegal, and '' gave great offence " he tells us, '' to the doctors 
and priests of that county," but he persisted with little real 
molestation until the Restoration. Six months after the 
king's return he was committed to Bedford Gaol on a charge 
of preaching in unlicensed conventicles ; and his refusal to 
promise to abstain from preaching, kept him there eleven 
years. The gaol was crowded with prisoners like himself, 
and amongst them he continued his ministry, supporting him- 
self by making tagged thread-laces and finding some com- 
fort in the Bible, the '' Book of Martyrs/' and the writing 
materials which he was suffered to have with him in prison. 
But he was in the prime of life ; his age was thirty-two 
when he was imprisoned, and the inactivity and severance 
from his wife and little children was hard to bear. " The 
parting with my wife and poor children," he says in words 
^ Of Croinwell. 



14 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY, 

of simple pathos, "hath often been to me in this place as 
the pulling of the flesh from the bones, and that not only 
because I should have often brought to my mind the many 
hardships, miseries, and wants that my poor family was like 
to meet with should I be taken from them, especially my 
poor blind child, who lay nearer to my heart than all besides. 
Oh, the thoughts of the hardships I thought my poor blind 
one might go under would break my heart to pieces. • Poor 
child,' thought I, * what sorrow art thou like to have for thy 
portion in this world I Thou must be beaten, must beg, 
suffer hunger, cold, nakedness, and a thousand calamities, 
though I cannot now endure the wind should blow upon 
thee.'" 

But suffering could not break his purpose, and Bunyan 
found compensation for the narrow bounds of his prison in 
the wonderful activity of his pen. Tracts, controversial 
treatises, poems, meditations, his " Grace Abounding,^' and 
his " Holy City," followed each other in quick succession. 
It was in his gaol that he wrote the first and greatest part 
of his " Pilgrim's Progress." In no book do we see more 
clearly the new imaginative force which had been given to 
the common life of Englishmen by their study of the Bible. 
Its English is the simplest and the homeliest English which 
has ever been used by any great English writer ; but it is 
the English of the Bible. The images of the " Pilgrim's 
Progress " are the images of prophet and evangelist ; it 
borrows for its tenderer outbursts the very verse of the 
Song of Songs, and pictures the heavenly city in the words 
of the Apocalypse. But so completely has the Bible become 
Bunyan's life that one feels its phrases as the natural expres- 
sion of his thoughts. He has live.d in the Bible till its words 
have become his own. He has lived among its visions and 
voices of heaven till all sense of possible unreality has died 
iway. He tells his tale with such a perfect naturalness that 



"THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS." 15 

allegories become living things, that the Slough of Despond 
and Doubting Castle are as real to us as places we see every 
day, that we know Mr. Legality and Mr. Worldly Wiseman 
as if we had met them in the street. It is in this amazing 
reality of impersonation that Bunyan's imaginative genius 
specially displays itself. 

But this is far from being his only excellence. In its 
range, in its directness, in its simple grace, in the ease with 
which it changes from lively dialogue to dramatic action, 
from simple pathos to passionate earnestness, in the subtle 
and delicate fancy which often suffuses its childlike words, 
in its playful humour, its bold character painting, in the even 
and balanced power which passes without effort from the 
Valley of the Shadow of Death to the land '' where the 
shining ones commonly walked because it was on the 
borders of heaven," in its sunny kindliness, unbroken by no 
bitter word, the "Pilgrim's Progress " is among the noblest 
of English poems. For if Puritanism had first discovered 
the poetry which contact with the spiritual world awakes in 
the meanest souls, Bunyan was the first of the Puritans who 
revealed this poetry to the outer world. The journey of 
Christian from the City of Destruction to the Heavenly City 
is simply a record of the life of such a Puritan as Bunyan him- 
self, seen through an imaginative haze of spiritual idealism in 
which its commonest incidents are heightened and glorified. 
He is himself the Pilgrim who flies from the City of Destruc- 
tion, who climbs the hill Difficulty,, who faces Apollyon, 
who sees his loved ones cross the river of Death towards 
the Heavenly City, and how, because " the hill on which 
the City was framed was higher than the clouds, they there- 
fore went up through the region of the air, sweetly talking 
as they went." 

The popularity which the " Pilgrim's Progress " enjoyed 
from the first proves that the religious sympathies of the 



i6 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

English people were still mainly Puritan. Before Bunyan's 
death in 1688 ten editions of the book had already been 
sold, and though even Cowper hardly dared to quote it for 
fear of moving a sneer in the polite world of his day, its 
favour among the middle classes and the poor has grown 
steadily from its author's day to our OAvn. It is probably 
the most popular and the most widely known of all English 
books. 



IV. 

PERSECUTION OF COVENANTERS. 
SCOTT. 

[In Scotland the struggle between the crown and the non- 
conformists took a more violent form. The great mass 
of the Scotch people had put away bishops and held to 
the government of the Church by Presbyters or parish 
ministers. They had embodied their beUef in a National 
Covenant. Charles insisted on putting their Church 
under bishops, and on rejecting the Covenant. Many 
submitted; but among the more earnest religionists a 
stern resistance sprang up. They withdrew from the 
churches, and gathered in meetings or conventicles in 
the fields to worship God. From their fidelity to the 
Covenant they were called Covenanters. The Govern- 
ment hunted them down like wild beasts.] 

When the custom of holding field conventicles was 
adopted, it had the effect of raising the minds of those who 
frequented them to a higher and more exalted pitch of 
enthusiasm. The aged and more timid could hardly engage 
on distant expeditions into the wild mountainous districts 
and the barren moors ; and the greater part of those who 
attended divine worship on such occasions were robust of 



PERSECUTION OF COVENANTERS. 17 

body, and bold of spirit, or at least men whose deficiency 
of strength and courage was more than supplied by religious 
zeal. The view of the rocks and hills around them, while a 
sight so unusual gave solemnity to their acts of devotion, 
encouraged them in the natural thought of defending them- 
selves against oppression, amidst the fortresses of nature's 
own construction, to which they had repaired to worship 
the God of nature, according to the mode their education 
dictated and their conscience acknowledged. The recollec- 
tion that in these fastnesses their fathers had often found a 
safe retreat from foreign invaders must have encouraged 
their natural confidence, and it was confirmed by the success 
with which a stand was sometimes made against small bodies 
of troops, who were occasionally repulsed by the sturdy 
Whigs 1 whom they attempted to disperse. In most cases of 
this kind they behaved with moderation, inflicting no further 
penalty upon such prisoners as might fall into their hands 
than detaining them to enjoy the benefit of a long sermon. 
Fanaticism added marvels to encourage this new-born spirit 
of resistance. They conceived themselves to be under the 
immediate protection of the Power whom they worshipped, 
and in their heated state of mind expected even miraculous 
interposition. At a conventicle held on one of the Lomond 
hills in Fife, it was reported and believed that an angelic 
form appeared in the air, hovering about the assembled 
congregation, with his foot advanced, as if in the act of 
keeping watch for their safety. 

On the whole, the idea of repelling force by force, and 
defending themselves against the attacks of the soldiers, and 
others who assaulted them, when employed in divine 
worship, began to become more general among the harassed 
nonconformists. For this purpose many of the congrega- 
tion assembled in arms, and I received the following 
^ The Covenanters in the western cotmties were called Whizs. 



i8 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

description of such a scene from a lady whose mother had 
repeatedly been present on such occasions. The meeting 
was held on the Eildon hills,- in the bosom betwixt two of 
the three conical tops which form the crest of the moun- 
tain. Trusty sentinels were placed on advanced posts all 
around, so as to command a view of the country below, 
and give the earliest notice of the approach of any unfriendly 
party. The clergyman occupied an elevated temporary 
pulpit, with his back to the wind. There were few or 
no males of any quality or distinction, for such persons 
could not escape detection, and were liable to ruin from 
the consequences. But many women of good condition, 
and holding the rank of ladies, ventured to attend the for- 
bidden meeting, and were allowed to sit in front of the 
assembly. Their side-saddles were placed on the ground to 
serve for seats, and their horses were tethered, or piqueted, 
as it is called, in the rear of the congregation. Before the 
females, and in the interval which divided them from the 
tent, or temporary pulpit, the arms of the men present, 
pikes, swords, and muskets, were regularly piled in such 
order as is used by soldiers, so that each man might in an 
instant assume his own weapons. 

As if Satan himself had suggested means of oppression, 
Lauderdale ^ raked up out of oblivion the old and barbarous 
laws which had been adopted in the fiercest times, and 
directed them against the nonconformists, especially those 
who attended the field conventicles. One of those laws 
inflicted the highest penalties upon persons who were inter- 
communed, as it was called — that is, outlawed by legal 
sentence. The nearest relations were prohibited from assist- 
ing each other, the wife the husband, the brother the brother, 
and the parent the son, if the sufferers had been intercom- 

2 Near Melrose. ^ The Duke of Laude7'dale was the 

Kmo^s minister in Scotland. 



PERSECUTION OF COVENANTERS. 19 

muned. The Government of this cruel time applied these 
ancient and barbarous statutes to the outlawed Presbyte- 
rians of the period, and thus drove them altogether from 
human society. In danger, want, and necessity, the in- 
habitants of the wilderness, and expelled from civil inter- 
course, it is no wonder that we find many of these wanderers 
avowing principles and doctrines hostile to the government 
which oppressed them, and carrying their resistance beyond 
the bounds of mere self-defence. There were instances, 
though less numerous than might have been expected, of 
their attacking the houses of the curates, or of others by 
whose information they had been accused of nonconformity; 
and several deaths ensued in those enterprises, as well as in 
skirmishes with the military. 

Superstitious notions also, the natural consequences of an 
uncertain, melancholy, and solitary life among the desolate 
glens and mountains, mingled with the intense enthusiasm of 
this persecuted sect. Their occasional successes over their 
oppressors, and their frequent escapes from the pursuit of 
the soldiery, when the marksmen missed their aim, or when 
a sudden mist concealed the fugitives, were imputed, not to 
the operation of those natural causes by means of which the 
Deity is pleased to govern the world, and which are the 
engines of his power, but to the direct interposition of a 
miraculous agency, over-ruling and suspending the laws of 
nature, as in the period of Scripture history. Many of the 
preachers, led away by the strength of their devotional 
enthusiasm, conceived themselves to be the vehicles of 
prophecy, and poured out tremendous denunciations of 
future wars, and miseries more dreadful than those which 
they themselves sustained ; and, as they imagined themselves 
to be occasionally under the miraculous protection of the 
heavenly powers, so they often thought themselves in a 
peculiar manner exposed to the envy and persecution of the 
15 



20 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

spirits of darkness, who lamed their horses when they were 
pursued, betrayed their footsteps to the enemy, or terrified 
them by ghastly apparitions in the dreary caverns and 
recesses where they were compelled to hide themselves. 
But especially the scattered Covenanters believed firmly 
that 'their chief persecutors received from the Evil Spirit a 
proof against leaden bullets — a charm, that is, to prevent 
their being pierced or wounded by them. There were many 
supposed to be gifted with this necromantic privilege. In 
the battle of Rullion Green, on the Pentland Hills, many of 
the Presbyterians were willing to believe that the balls were 
seen hopping like hailstones from Tom Dalziel's buff-coat 
and boots. Silver bullets were not supposed to be neutralized 
by the same spell ; but that metal being scarce among the 
persecuted Covenanters, it did not afford them much relief. 
To John Graham of Claverhouse, a Scottish officer of 
high rank, who began to distinguish himself as a severe 
executor of the orders of the Privy Council against non- 
conformists, the Evil Spirit was supposed to have been still 
more liberal than to Dalziel, or to the Englishman who died 
at Caldons. He not only obtained proof against lead, but 
the devil is said to have presented him with a black horse, 
which had not a single white hair upon its body. This 
horse, it was said, had been cut out of the belly of its dam, 
instead of being born in the usual manner. On this animal 
Claverhouse was supposed to perform the most unwonted 
feats of agility, flying almost like a- bird along the sides of 
precipitous hills, and through pathless morasses, where an 
ordinary horse must have been smothered or dashed to pieces. 
It is even yet believed, that mounted on this steed, Claver- 
house (or Clavers, as he is popularly called) once turned a 
hare on the mountain named the Brandlaw, at the head of 
Moffatdale, where no other horse could have kept its feet. 
But these exertions were usually made whilst he was in 



PERSECUTION OF COVENANTERS. 21 

pursuit of the Wanderers, which was considered as Satan's 
own peculiar pleasing work. 

There lived at this gloomy period, at a place called Pres- 
hill, or Priesthill, in Lanarkshire, a man named John Brown, 
a carrier by profession, and called, from his zealous religious 
principles, the Christian Carrier. This person had been out 
with the insurgents at Bothwell Bridge,"^ and was for other 
reasons amenable to the cruelty of the existing laws. On a 
morning of May, 1685, Peden, one of the Cameronian 
ministers, whom Brown had sheltered in his house, took his 
leave of his host and his wife, repeating twice, — " Poor 
woman ! a fearful morning — a dark and misty morning ! " — 
words which were afterwards believed to be prophetic of 
calamity. When Peden was gone, Brown left his house with 
a spade in his hand for his ordinary labour, when he was 
suddenly surrounded and arrested by a band of horse, with 
Claverhouse at their head. Although the prisoner had a 
hesitation in his speech on ordinary occasions, he answered 
the questions which were put to him in this extremity with 
such composure and firmness, that Claverhouse asked 
whether he was a preacher. He was answered in the 
negative. " If he has not preached," said Claverhouse, 
" mickle ^ hath he prayed in his time. But betake you now 
to your prayers for the last time " (addressing the sufferer), 
" for you shall presently die." The poor man kneeled down 
and prayed with zeal ; and when he was touching on the 
political state of the country, and praying that Heaven 
would spare a remnant, Claverhouse, interrupting him, said, 
" I gave you leave to pray, and you are preaching." ^' Sir," 
answered the prisoner, turning towards his judge on his 
knees, " you know nothing either of preachmg or praying, if 



4 A battle fought betweett the Covenanters and the Duke of 
Monmotcth, in which they were routed. ^ Mtich. 



22 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

you call what I now say preaching : " — then continued with- 
out confusion. 

When his devotions were ended, Claverhouse commanded 
him to bid good-night to his wife and children. Brown 
turned towards them, and, taking his wife by the hand, 
told her that the hour was come which he had spoken of 
when he first asked her consent to marry him. The poor 
woman answered firmly,—" In this cause I am willing to 
resign you." " Then have I nothing to do save to die," he 
replied ; "and I thank God I have been in a frame to meet, 
death for many years." He was shot dead by a party of 
soldiers at the end of his own house ; and although his wife 
was of a nervous habit, and used to become sick at the 
sight of blood, she had on this occasion strength enough to 
support the dreadful scene without fainting or confusion, 
only her eyes dazzled when the carabines were fired. While 
her husband's dead body lay stretched before him, Claver- 
house asked her what she thought of her husband now. " I 
ever thought much of him," she rejDlied, "and now more 
than ever." " It were but justice," said Claverhouse, " to 
lay thee beside him." " I doubt not," she replied, " that if 
you were permitted, your cruelty would carry you that 
length. But how will you answer for this morning's work ? " 
"To man I can be answerable," said Claverhouse, "and 
Heaven I will take in my own hand." He then mounted his 
horse and marched, and left her with the corpse of her 
husband lying beside her, and her fatherless infant in her 
arms. " She placed the child on the ground," says the nar- 
rative with scriptural simplicity, " tied up the corpse's head, 
and straightened the limbs, and covered him with her plaid, 
and sat down and wept over him." 



THE POPISH PLOT. 23 

V. 

THE POPISH PLOT. 
MACAULAY. 

[While he was thus persecuting the dissenters from the 
National Church, the steady aim of Charles the Second 
was to set the crown free from all restraint of law or 
Parliament and to establish a despotism. This he hoped 
to do by the aid of France, and with this view he again 
and again betrayed the interests of England by secret 
treaties with the French king. Nor v/as he truer to the 
Church than to the nation. He was in heart a Catholic ; 
and he looked forward to the ruin of Protestantism, 
because its spirit was averse from arbitrary power. He 
shrank indeed from avowing his faith ; but his brother, 
James, Duke of York, and many of the leading statesmen 
and nobles of the time became Catholics. Meanwhile, 
suspicions of the king's dealings with France stole abroad ; 
and in the general excitement men listened to the lies of 
Titus Gates, an impostor who pretended to have dis- 
covered a Popish plot for the destruction of the king and 
the nation. The country went mad with panic ; and 
many foolish and cruel things were done.] 

The nation, awaking from its rapturous trance found 
itself sold to a foreign, a despotic, a Popish court, defeated 
on its own seas and rivers by a state ^ of far inferior 
resources, and placed under the rule of panders and 
buffoons. Our ancestors saw the best and ablest divines of 
the age turned out of their benefices by hundreds. They 
saw the prisons filled with men guilty of no other crime than 
that of worshipping God according to the fashion generally 

1 T/ie Dutch had defeated the English fleet, atid sailed in 
triumph up the Thafnes. 



24 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

prevailing throughout Protestant Europe. They saw a 
Popish queen on the throne, and a Popish heir^ on the 
steps of the throne. They saw unjust aggression followed 
by feeble war, and feeble war ending in disgraceful peace. 
They saw a Dutch fleet riding triumphant in the Thames. 
They saw the triple alliance ^ broken, the Exchequer shut 
up,4 the public credit shaken, the arms of England employed, 
in shameful subordination to France, against a country^ 
which seemed to be the last asylum of civil and religious 
liberty. They saw Ireland discontented, and Scotland in 
rebeUion. They saw, meantime, Whitehall swarming with 
sharpers and courtesans. They saw harlot after harlot, and 
bastard after bastard, not only raised to the highest honours 
of the peerage, but supplied out of the spoils of the honest, 
industrious, and ruined public creditor, with ample means of 
supporting the new dignity. The government became more 
odious every day. Even in the bosom of that very House 
of Commons which had been elected by the nation in the 
ecstasy of its penitence, of its joy and of its hope, an 
opposition sprang up and became powerful. Loyalty which 
had been proof against all the disasters of the civil war, 
which had survived the routs of Naseby and Worcester, which 
had never flinched from sequestration and exile, which the 
Protector could never intimidate or seduce, began to fail in 
this last and hardest trial. The storm had long been 
gathering. At length it burst with a fury which threatened 
the whole frame of society with dissolution. 

It was natural that there should be a panic ; and it was 
natural that the people should, in a panic, be unreasonable 
and credulous. Gates was a bad man ; but the spies and 

2 riie King's brothe?' JameSy Duke of York. ^ The 

alliance of England, Holland, and Sweden, against the aggreS' 
sion of France. '^ At the opening of the war with the 

Dutch. ^ Charles joined France in its attack upon Holland, 



THE POPISH PLOT. 25 

deserters by whom governments are informed of conspiracies 
are generally bad men. His story was strange and romantic ; 
but it was not more strange or romantic than a well- 
authenticated Popish plot which some few people then 
living might remember, the gunpowder treason. Oates's 
account of the burning of London was in itself not more 
improbable than the project of blowing up King, Lords, 
and Commons, a project which had not only been enter- 
tained by very distinguished Catholics, but which had very 
narrowly missed of success. As to the design on the King's 
person, all the world knew that, within a century, two Kings 
of France and a prince of Orange had been murdered by 
Catholics, purely from religious enthusiasm, that Elizabeth 
had been in constant danger of a similar fate, and that such 
attempts, to say the least, had not been discouraged by the 
highest authority of the Church of Rome. The characters 
of some of the accused persons stood high ; but so did that 
of Anthony Babington,^ and that of Everard Digby.'^ Those 
who suffered denied their guilt to the last ; but no persons 
versed in criminal proceedings would attach any importance 
to this circumstance. It was well known also that the most 
distinguished Catholic casuists had written largely in 
defence of regicide, of mental reservation, and of equivoca- 
tion. It was not quite impossible that men whose minds 
had been nourished with the writings of such casuists 
might think themselves justified in denying a charge which, 
if acknowledged, would bring great scandal on the Church. 
The trials of the accused Catholics were exactly like all the 
state trials of those days ; that is to say, as infamous as 
they could be. They were neither fairer nor less fair than 
those of Algernon Sydney, of Rosewell, of Cornish, of all 
the unhappy men, in short, whom a predominant party 

^ Babmgton took paj-t in a plot for murdering Queeji Eliza- 
beth. "^ Digby was ofie of the leaders i?t the Gtmpowder Plot. 



26 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

brought to what was then facetiously called justice. Till 
the revolution purified our institutions and our manners, a 
state-trial was merely a murder preceded by the uttering of 
certain gibberish and the performance of certain mummeries. 
The Opposition had now the great body of the nation 
with them. Thrice the King dissolved the Parliament; 
and thrice the constituent body sent him back representa- 
tives fully determined to keep strict watch on all his 
measures, and to exclude his brother from the throne. Had 
the character of Charles resembled that of his father, this 
intestine discord would infallibly have ended in civil war. 
Obstinacy and passion would have been his ruin, His 
levity and apathy were his security. He resembled one of 
those light Indian boats which are safe because they are 
pliant, which yield to the impact of every wave, and which 
therefore bound without danger through a surf in which a 
vessel ribbed with heart of oak would inevitably perish. 
The only thing about which his mind was unalterably made 
up was that, to use his own phrase, he would not go on 
his travels again for anybody or for anything. His easy, 
indolent behaviour produced all the effects of the most 
artful policy. He suffered things to take their course ; and 
if Achitophel had been at one of his ears, and Machiavel 
at the other, they could have given him no -better advice 
than to let things take their course. He gave way to the 
violence of the movement, and waited for the correspond- 
ing violence of the rebound. He exhibited himself to his 
subjects in the interesting character of an oppressed king, 
who was ready to do anything to please them, and who 
asked of them, in return, only some consideration for his 
conscientious scruples and for his feelings of natural affec- 
tion, who was ready to accept any ministers, to grant any 
guarantees to public liberty, but who could not find it in his 
heart to take away his brother's birthright. Nothing more 



THE POPISH PLOT. 27 

was necessary. He had to deal with a people whose noble 
weakness it has always been not to press too hardly on the 
vanquished, with a people the lowest and most brutal of 
whom cry " shame," if they see a man struck when he is 
on the ground. The resentment which the nation had felt 
towards the court began to abate as soon as the court was 
manifestly unable to offer any resistance. The panic 
gradually subsided. Every day brought to light some new 
falsehood or contradiction in the stories of Oates and 
Bedloe. The people were glutted with the blood of Papists 
as they had, twenty years before, been glutted with the 
blood of regicides. When the first sufferers in the plot 
were brought to the bar, the witnesses for the defence were 
in danger of being torn in pieces by the mob. Judges, 
jurors, and spectators seemed equally indifferent to justice, 
and equally eager for revenge. Lord Stafford, the last 
sufferer, was pronounced not guilty by a large minority of 
his peers; and when he protested his innocence on the 
scaffold, the people cried out, " God bless you, my lord ; 
we believe you, my lord." The attempt to make a son 
of Lucy Waters '' King of England was alike offensive to 
the pride of the nobles and to the moral feeling of the 
middle class. The old cavalier party, the great majority of 
the landed gentry, the clergy and the universities almost to 
a man, began to draw together, and to form in close array 
round the throne. 

A similar reaction had begun to take place in favour of 
Charles the First during the second session of the Long 
Parliament; and, if that prince had been honest or 
sagacious enough to keep himself strictly within the limits 
of the law, we have not the smallest doubt that he would 
in a few months have found himself at least as powerful as 

7 A mistress of Charles, whose son, the Duke of Monmouth, 
some wished to make kijig in place of the Duke of York, 
15* 



28 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

his best friends, Lord Falkland, Culpepper, or Hyde, would 
have wished to see him. By illegally impeaching the lead- 
ers of the Opposition, and by making in person a wicked 
attempt on the House of Commons, he stopped and turned 
back that tide of loyal feeling which was just beginning to 
run strongly. The son, quite as little restrained by law or 
by honour as the father, was, luckily for himself, a man of a 
lounging, careless temper, and, from temper, we believe, 
rather than from policy, escaped that great error which cost 
his father so dear. Instead of trying to pluck the fruil 
before it was ripe, he lay still till it fell mellow into his very 
mouth. If he had arrested Lord Shaftesbury and Lord 
Russell ^ in a manner not warranted by law, it is not im- 
probable that he would have ended his life in exile. He 
took the sure course. He employed only his legal pre- 
rogatives, and he found them amply sufficient for his 
purpose. 

The whole of that machinery which had lately been in 
motion against the Papists was now put in motion against 
the Whigs, ^ — brow-beating judges, packed juries, lying wit- 
nesses, clamorous spectators. The ablest chief of the party 
fled to a foreign country and died there. ^° The most 
virtuous man^^ of the party was beheaded. Another of its 
most distinguished. members preferred a voluntary death to 
the shame of a public execution. The boroughs on which 
the government could not depend were, by means of legal 
quibbles, deprived of their charters; and their constitution 
was remodelled in such a manner as almost to ensure the 
return of representatives devoted to the court. All parts of 
the kingdom emulously sent up the most extravagant assur- 
ances of the love which they bore to their sovereign, and 

^ The leaders of the party opposed to the court. ^ The 

party opposed to the court. ^° Lord Shaftesbury died in 

exile ill Holland. ^^ Lord Russell. 



THE TRIAL OF THE SEVEN BISHOPS. 29 

of the abhorrence with which they regarded those who 
questioned the divine origin or the boundless extent of his 
power. 



VI. 

THE TRIAL OF THE SEVEN BISHOPS. 
MACKINTOSH. 

[Charles had only begun to take advantage of the turn ot 
national feeling which followed on the exposure of the 
Popish Plot when his death placed his brother, James the 
Second, on the throne. James was resolved to rule as 
a despot ; and this he might have succeeded in doing. 
But he was a bigoted Catholic, and resolved besides to 
make England a Catholic country. . In his efforts to do 
this, he set against him all the classes who had hitherto 
supported the throne, and above all the clergy. They 
refused to read a Declaration of Indulgence which he 
illegally published ; and seven of the Bishops waited on 
the King himself with a protest. James treated this as a 
libel, and ordered them to be put on their trial.] 

On the 15th of June the Bishops were brought before 
the Court of King's Bench by a writ of Habeas Corpus. 
On leaving the Tower they refused to pay the fees required 
by Sir Edward Hales as lieutenant, whom they charged 
with discourtesy. He so far forgot himself as to say that 
the fees were a compensation for the irons with which he 
might have loaded them, and the bare walls and floor to 
which he might have confined their accommodation. They 
answered, " We lament the King's displeasure, but every 
other man loses his breath who attempts to intimidate us." 
On landing from their barge they were received with 
increased reverence by a great multitude, who made a lane 
for them, and followed them into Westminster Hall. The 



30 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

nuncio,^ unused to the slightest breath of popular feeling, 
was subdued b)' these manifestations of enthusiasm, which 
he relates with more warmth than any other contemporary. 
" Of the immense concourse of people," says he, "who 
received them on the bank of the river, the majority in 
their immediate neighbourhood were on their knees ; the 
Archbishop ^ laid his hands on the heads of such as he 
could reach, exhorting them to continue steadfast in their 
faith ; they cried aloud that all should kneel, while tears 
flowed from the eyes of many." In the Court of King's 
Bench they were attended by the twenty-nine peers, who 
offered to be their sureties, and the court was instantly 
filled by a crowd of gentlemen attached to their cause. 

The Bishops pleaded Not Guilty, and they were enlarged, 
on their own undertaking to appear on the trial, which was 
appointed to be on the 29th of June. As they left the 
court they were surrounded by crowds, who begged their 
blessing. The Bishop of St. Asaph, detained in Palace 
Yard by a multitude, who kissed his hands and garments, 
was delivered from their importunate kindness by Lord 
Clarendon, who, taking him into his carriage, found it 
necessary to make a circuit through the Park to escape 
from the bodies of people by whom the streets were 
obstructed. Shouts and huzzas broke out in the court and 
were repeated all around at the moment of the enlargement. 
The bells of the Abbey Church of Westminster had begun 
to ring a joyful peal, when they were stopped by Sprat ^ 
amidst the execrations of the people. No one knew, said 
the Dutch Minister, what to do for joy. When the Arch- 
bishop landed at Lambeth, the grenadiers of Lord Lich- 
field's regiment, though posted there by his enemies, 

1 James had, in defiance of the law, received a nuncio or am- 
bassador f}'om the Pope. 2 Sancroft, Archbishop of Canter- 
bury. ^ Bishop Sprat, Dean of Westminster. 



THE TRIAL OF THE SEVEN BISHOPS. 31 

received him with military honours, made a lane for his 
passage from the river to his palace, and fell on their knees 
to ask his blessing. In the evening the premature joy at 
this temporary liberation displayed itself in bonfires and in 
some outrages to Roman Catholics, as the supposed insti- 
gators of the prosecution. 

[In spite of these displays of national feeling, James per- 
sisted in bringing the Bishops to trial, and at the end of 
June they were brought to the bar]. 

After a trial which lasted ten hours, the jury retired at 
seven o'clock in the evening to consider their verdict. The 
friends of the Bishops watched at the door of the jury-room, 
and heard loud voices at midnight and at three o'clock, so 
anxious were they about the issue, though delay be in such 
cases a sure symptom of acquittal. The opposition of one 
Arnold, the brewer of the King's house, being at length 
subdued by the steadiness of the others, they informed the 
Chief Justice, at six o'clock in the morning, that the jury 
were agreed in their verdict, and desired to know when he 
would receive it. The Court met at nine o'clock. The 
nobihty and. gentry covered the benches, and an immense 
concourse of people filled the hall, and blocked up the 
adjoining streets. Sir Robert Langley, the foreman of the 
jury, being, according to established form, asked whether 
the accused were guilty or not guilty, pronounced the verdict 
" Not guilty." No sooner were these words uttered than a 
loud huzza arose from the audience in the court. It was 
instantly echoed from without by a shout of joy, which 
sounded like a crack of the ancient and massy roof of West- 
minster Hall. It passed with electrical rapidity from voice 
to voice along the infinite multitude who waited in the 
streets. It reached the Temple in a few minutes. For a 
short time no man seemed to know where he was. No 
business was done for hours. The Solicitor-General informed 



32 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Lord Sunderland, in the presence of the nuncio, that never 
within the remembrance of man had there been heard 
such cries of applause mingled with tears of joy. "The 
acclamations," says Sir John Rerresby, "were a very 
rebellion in noise." In no long time they ran to the camp 
at Hounslow, and were repeated with an ominous voice by 
the soldiers in the hearing of the King, who, on being told 
that they were for the acquittal of the bishops, said, with an 
ambiguity probably arising from confusion, " So much the 
worse for them." 

The jury were received with the loudest acclamations; 
hundreds with tears in their eyes embraced them as 
deliverers. The bishops, almost alarmed at their own 
success, escaped from the huzzas of the people as privately 
as possible, and exhorted them to fear God and honour the 
King. Cartwright,^ Bishop of Chester, had remained in 
court during the trial unnoticed by any of the crowd of 
nobihty and gentry, and Sprat met with little more regard. 
Cartwright, in going to his carriage, was called " a wolf in 
sheep's clothing ; " and as he was very corpulent, the 
populace cried out, " Room for the man with a pope in his 
belly!" They bestowed also on Sir William Williams^ 
very mortifying proofs of disrespect. Money was thrown 
among the populace to drink the healths of the King, the 
bishops, and the jury. In the evening they did so together 
with confusion to the Papists, amidst the ringing of bells, 
and around bonfires which were lighted throughout the 
city, blazing before the windows of the King's palace, where 
the Pope was burned in effigy by those who were not aware 
of his lukewarm friendship for their enemies. Bonfires 
were particularly kindled before the doors of the most 
distinguished Roman Catholics, who were required by the 

* Bishop Cartwright mid Sprat were on the Ktn£^''s side. 
5 One of the counsel for the crown. 



THE LANDING OF WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 33 

multitude to defray the expense of this annoyance. 
Lord Arundel and others submitted. Lord Salisbury, with 
the zeal of a new convert, sent his servants to disperse the 
rabble ; but after having fired and killed the parish beadle, 
who came to quench the bonfire, they were driven back into 
the house. All parties. Dissenters as well as Churchmen, 
rejoiced in the acquittal ; the bishops and their friends vainly 
laboured to temper the extravagance with which it was 
expressed. The nuncio, at first touched by the effusion of 
poj^ular feeling, but now shocked by this boisterous triumph, 
declared " that the fires over the whole city, the drinking in 
every street, accompanied by cries to the health of the 
bishops and confusion to the Catholics, with the play of 
fireworks and the discharge of firearms, and the other 
demonstrations of furious gladness, mixed with impious out- 
rage against religion, which were continued during the night, 
formed a scene of unspeakable horror, displaying, in all its 
rancour, the malignity of this heretical people against the 
Church." The bonfires were kept up during the whole 
of Saturday, and the disorderly joys of the multitude did 
not cease till the dawn of Sunday reminded them of the 
duties of their religion. 



VIL 

THE LANDING OF WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 

MACAULAY. 

[England was at last driven to revolt by the tyranny of 
James ; and some of the greatest nobles called William, 
Prince of Orange, to put himself at the head of the national 
rising. William had married Mary, the eldest daughter 
of James, who had till of late been looked on as his 
destined successor. He gathered a fleet and army in 



34 PROSE READINGS FROxM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Holland, and in 1688 set sail for the English shores. His 
first attempt was foiled by a storm ; in a second he was 
more fortunate.] 

It was on the evening of Thursday the ist of November 
that William put to sea the second time. The wind 
blew fresh from the east. The armament, during twelve 
hours, held a course towards the north-west. The 
light vessels sent out by the English Admiral,^ for the 
purpose of obtaining intelligence, brought back news which 
confirmed the prevailing opinion that the enemy would try 
to land in Yorkshire. All at once, on a signal from the 
Prince's ship, the whole fleet tacked and made sail for the 
British Channel. The same breeze which favoured the 
voyage of the invaders prevented Dartmouth from coming 
out of the Thames. His ships were forced to strike yards 
and topmasts : and two of his frigates, which had gained 
the open sea, were shattered by the violence of the weather 
and driven back into the river. 

The Dutch fleet ran fast before the gale, and reached the 
Straits at about ten in the morning of Saturday, the 3rd 
of November. William himself, in the Brill, led the way. 
More than six hundred vessels, with canvas spread to a 
favourable wind, followed in his train. The transports were 
in the centre. The men of war, more than fifty in number, 
formed an outer rampart. Herbert, with the title of Lieu- 
tenant Admiral General, commanded the whole fleet. Soon 
after midday William passed the Straits. His fleet spread 
to within a league of Dover on the north, and of Calais on 
the south. The men of war on the extreme right and left 
saluted both fortresses at once. Tlie troops appeared under 
arms on the decks. The flourish of trumpets, the clash of 
cymbals, and the rolling of drums were distinctly heard at 
once on the English and French shores. An innumerable 
^ The admiral of James the Second^ Lord Dart7}iouih. 



1 



THE LANDING OF WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 35 

company of gazers blackened the white beach of Kent. 
Another mighty multitude covered the coast of Picardy. 
Rapin de Thoyras, who, driven by persecution from his 
country, had taken service in the Dutch army, and now 
went with the Prince to England, described the spectacle, 
many years later, as the most magnificent and affecting that 
was ever seen by human eyes. At sunset the armament 
was off Beachy Head. Then the lights were kindled. The 
sea was in a blaze for many miles. But the eyes of all 
the steersmen were directed throughout the night to three 
huge lanterns which flamed on the stern of the Brill. 

Meanwhile a courier had been riding post from Dover 
Castle to Whitehall with the news that the Dutch had passed 
the Straits and were steering westward. It was necessary 
to make an immediate change in all the military arrange- 
ments. Messengers were despatched in every direction. 
Officers were roused from their beds at dead of night. At 
three on the Sunday morning there was a great muster by 
torch-light in Hyde Park. The King had sent several 
regiments northward in the expectation that William would 
land in Yorkshire. Expresses were despatched to recall 
them. All the forces except those which were necessary to 
keep the peace of the capital were ordered to move to the 
west. Salisbury was appointed as the place of rendezvous ; 
but, as it was thought possible that Portsmouth might be 
the first point of attack, three battalions of guards and a 
strong body of cavalry set out for that fortress. In a few 
hours it was known that Portsmouth was safe, and these 
troops then received orders to change their route and to 
hasten to Salisbury^ 

When Sunday the 4th of November dawned, the cliffs 
of the Isle of Wight were full in view of the Dutch arma- 
ment. That day was the anniversary both of William's 
birth and of his marriage. Sail was slackened during part 



36 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

of the morning ; and divine service was performed on 
board of the ships. In the afternoon and through the 
night the fleet held on its course. Torbay was the place 
where the Prince intended to land. But the morning of 
Monday the 5th of November was hazy. The pilot of the 
Brill could not discern the sea marks, and carried the fleet 
too far to the west. The danger was great. To return in 
the face of the wind was impossible. Plymouth was the 
next port. But at Plymouth a garrison had been posted 
under the command of the Earl of Bath. The landing 
might be opposed ; and a check might produce serious con- 
sequences. There could be little doubt, moreover, that by 
this time the royal fleet had got out of the Thames, and was 
hastening full sail down the Channel. Russell saw the whole 
extent of the peril, and exclaimed to Burnet,^ '< You may 
go to prayers. Doctor, all is over." At that moment the 
wind changed : a soft breeze sprang up from the south ; the 
mist dispersed ; the sun shone forth ; and, under the mild 
light of an autumnal noon, the fleet turned back, passed 
round by the lofty cape of Berry Head, and rode safe in the 
harbour of Torbay. 

Since WiUiam looked on that harbour its aspect has 
greatly changed. The amphitheatre which surrounds the 
spacious basin now exhibits everywhere the signs of pros- 
perity and civilization. At the north-eastern extremity has 
sprung up a great watering-place,^ to which strangers are* 
attracted from the most remote parts of our island by the 
Italian softness of the air, for in that climate the myrtle 
flourishes unsheltered, and even the winter is milder than 
the Northumbrian April. The inhabitants are about ten 
thousand in number. The newly -built churches and chapels, 
the baths and libraries, the hotels and public gardens, the 
infirmary and the museum, the white streets, rising terrace 
^ An English chaplain of William. ^ Torquay. 



THE LANDING OF WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 37 

above terrace, the gay villas peeping from the midst of 
shrubberies and flower-beds, present a spectacle widely 
different from any that in the seventeenth century England 
could show. At the opposite end of the bay lies, sheltered 
by Berry Head, the stirring market-town of Brixham, the 
wealthiest seat of our fishing trade. A pier and a haven 
were formed there at the beginning of the present century, 
but have been found insufficient for the increasing traffic. 
The population is about six thousand souls. The shipping 
amounts to more than two hundred sail. The tonnage 
exceeds many times the tonnage of the port of Liverpool 
under the kings of the House of Stuart. But Torbay, when 
the Dutch fleet cast anchor there, was known only as a 
haven where ships sometimes took refuge from the tempests 
of the Atlantic. Its quiet shores were undisturbed by the 
bustle either of commerce or of i^leasure : and the huts of 
ploughmen and fishermen were thinly scattered over what is 
now the site of crowded marts and of luxurious pavilions. 

The peasantry of the coast of Devonshire remembered 
the name of Monmouth "^ with affection, and held Popery in 
detestation. They therefore crowded down to the seaside 
with provisions and offers of service. The disembarkation 
instantly commenced. Sixty boats conveyed the troops to 
the coast. MacKay was sent on shore first with the British 
regiments. The Prince soon followed. He landed where 
the quay of Brixham now stands. The whole aspect of the 
place has been altered. Where we now see a port crowded 
with shipping, and a market-place swarming v/ith buyers and 
sellers, the waves then broke on a desolate beach ; but a frag- 
ment of the rock on which the deliverer stepped from his 
boat has been carefully preserved, and is set up as an 
object of public veneration in the centre of that busy wharf 

^ At the apening of Ja7iies's 7'eign the Duke of Moninouth had 
raised a revolt in the western counties. 



3S PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY, 



VIII. 
KILLIECRANKIE. 

SCOTT. 

[In England William met with no opposition. The people 
rose against James, his own officers forsookhim, and he 
fled over sea. In Scotland, however, the famous Claver- 
house, who had now become Viscount Dundee, took refuge 
in the Highlands and called their clans to arms.] 

Dundee resolved to preserve the castle of Blair, so 
important as a key to the Northern Highlands, and marched 
to protect it with a body of about two thousand High- 
landers, with whom he occupied the upper and northern 
extremity of the pass between Dunkeld and Blair. 

In this celebrated defile, called the Pass of Killiecrankie, 
the road runs for several miles along the banks of a furious 
river, called the Garry, which rages below, amongst 
cataracts and waterfalls which the eye can scarcely discern, 
while a series of precipices and wooded mountains rise on 
the other hand ; the road itself is the only mode of access 
through the glen, and along the valley which lies at its 
northern extremity. The path was then much more 
inaccessible than at the present day, as it ran close to the 
bed of the river, and was now narrower and more rudely 
formed. 

A defile of such difficulty was capable of being defended 
to the last extremity by a small number against a consider- 
able army ; and considering how well adapted his followers 
were for such mountain warfare, many of the Highland 
chiefs were of opinion that Dundee ought to content 
himself with guarding the pass against MacKay's ^ superior 
1 The general of William' s force in Scotland. 



KILLIECRANKIE. 39 

army, until a rendezvous, which they had appointed, should 
assemble a stronger force of their countrymen. But 
Dundee was of a different opinion, and resolved to suffer 
MacKay to march through the pass without opposition, and 
then to fight him in the open valley, at the northern extremity. 
He chose this bold measure, both because it promised a 
decisive result to the combat which his ardent temper 
desired ; and also because he preferred fighting MacKay 
before that General was joined by a considerable body of 
English horse who were expected, and of whom the 
Highlanders had at that time some dread. 

On the 17th June, 1689, General MacKay with his troops 
entered the pass, which, to their astonishment, they found 
unoccupied by the enemy. His forces were partly English 
and Dutch regiments, who, with many of the Lowland Scots 
themselves, were struck with awe, and even fear, at finding 
themselves introduced by such a magnificent, and, at the 
same time, formidable avenue to the presence of their 
enemies, the inhabitants of t*hese tremendous mountains, 
into whose recesses they were penetrating. But besides the 
effect produced on their minds by the magnificence of 
natural scenery, to which they were wholly unaccustomed, 
the consideration must have hung heavy on them, that if a 
General of Dundee's talents suffered them to march un- 
opposed through a pass so difficult, it must be because he 
was conscious of possessing strength sufficient to attack 
and destroy them at the further extremity, when their only 
retreat would lie through the narrow and perilous path by 
which they were now advancing. 

Mid-day was past ere MacKay's men were extricated 
from the defile, when their general drew them up in one 
line three deep, without any reserve, along the southern 
extremity of the narrow valley into which the pass opens. 
A hill on the north side of the valley, covered with dwarf 



^o PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

trees and bushes, formed the position of Dundee's army, 
which, divided into columns, formed by the different clans, 
was greatly outflanked by MacKay's troops. 

The armies shouted when they came in sight of each 
other ; but the enthusiasm of MacKay's soldiers being 
damped by the circumstances we have observed, their 
military shout made but a dull and sullen sound compared 
to the yell of the Highlanders, which rang far and shrill from 
all the hills around them. Sir Evan Cameron of Lochiel 
called on those around him to attend to this circumstance, 
saying, that in all his battles he observed victory had ever 
been on the side of those whose shout before joining 
seemed most sprightly and confident. It was accounted a 
less favourable augury by some of the old Highlanders that 
Dundee at this moment, to render his person less distin- 
guishable, put on a sad-coloured buff-coat above the scarlet 
cassock and bright cuirass in which he had hitherto 
appeared. 

It was some time ere Dundee had completed his prepara- 
tions for the assault which he meditated, and only a few 
dropping shots were exchanged, while, in order to prevent 
the risk of being outflanked, he increased the intervals 
between the columns with which he designed to charge, 
insomuch that he had scarce men enough left in the centre. 
About an hour before sunset, he sent word to MacKay that 
he was about to attack him, and gave the signal to charge. 

The Highlanders stript themselves to their shirts and 
doublets, threw away everything that could impede the 
fury of their onset, and then put themselves in motion, 
accompanying with a dreadful yell the discordant sound of 
their war-pipes. As they advanced, the clansmen fired their 
pieces, each column thus pouring in a well-aimed though 
irregular volley, then throwing down their fusees, without 
waiting to reload, they drew their swords, and increasing 



KILLIECRANKIE. 41 

their pace to the utmost speed, pierced through and broke 
the thin line which was opposed to them, and profited by 
their superior activity and the nature of their weapons to 
make a great havoc among the regular troops. When thus 
mingled with each other, hand to hand, the advantages of 
superior discipline on the part of the Lowland soldier 
were lost — agility and strength were on the side of the 
mountaineers. Some accounts of the battle give a terrific 
account of the blows struck by the Highlanders, which cleft 
heads down to the breast, cut steel headpieces asunder as 
night-caps, and slashed through pikes like willows. Two 
of MacKay's English regiments in the centre stood fast, 
the interval between the attacking columns being so great 
that none were placed opposite to them. The rest of King 
William's army were totally routed and driven headlong 
into the river. 

Dundee himself, contrary to the advice of the Highland 
chiefs, was in front of the battle, and fatally conspicuous. 
By a desperate attack he possessed himself of MacKay's 
artillery, and then led his handful of cavalry, about fifty 
men, against two troops of horse, which fled v/ithout 
fighting. Observing the stand made by the two English 
regiments already mentioned, he galloped towards the clan 
of MacDonald, and was in the act of bringing them to the 
charge, with his right arm elevated, as if pointing the way 
to victory, when he was struck by a bullet beneath the arm- 
pit, where he was unprotected by his cuirass. He tried to 
ride on, but being unable to keep the saddle, fell mortally 
wounded, and died in the course of the night. 

It was impossible for a victory to be more complete than 
that gained by the Highlanders at Killiecrankie. The 
cannon, baggage, the stores of MacKay's army, fell into 
their hands. The two regiments which kept their ground 
suffered so much in their attempt to retreat through the pass, 



42 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

now occupied by the Athole-men. in their rear, that they 
might be considered as destroyed. Two thousand of 
MacKay's army were killed or taken, and the General himself 
escaped with difficulty to Stirling, at the head of a few 
horse. The Highlanders, Avhose dense columns, as they 
came down to the attack, underwent three successive 
volleys from MacKay's Hne, had eight hundred men 
slain. 

But all other losses were unimportant compared to that 
of Dundee, with whom were forfeited all the fruits of that 
bloody victory. MacKay, when he found himself free 
from pursuit, declared his conviction that his opponent 
had fallen in the battle. And such was the opinion of 
Dundee's talents and courage, and the general sense of 
the peculiar crisis at which his death took place, that the 
common people of the low country cannot, even now, be 
persuaded that he died an ordinary death. They say, 
that a servant of his own, shocked at the severities which, 
if triumphant, his master was likely to accomplish against 
the Presbyterians, and giving way to the popiilar preju- 
dice of his having a charm against the effect of lead balls, 
shot him, in the tumult of the battle, with a silver 
button taken from his livery coat. The Jacobites, and 
Episcopal party, on the other hand, lamented the deceased 
victor as the last of the Scots, the last of the Grahams, 
and the last of all that was great in his native country. 



MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 43 

IX. 

MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 
SCOTT. 

[All resistance ceased with ,the death of Dundee, and the 
clans submitted to William. But the triumph of the 
Government was sullied by a terrible crime. On© small 
clan, the MacDonalds of Glencoe, failed to give in their 
submission by the appointed day, and as they had long 
been hostile, the Secretary for Scotch Affairs, Dalrymple, 
resolved to take this opportunity of putting them to the 
sword. His plan was carried out with a treachery equal 
to its cruelty.] 

This clan inhabited a valley formed by the river Coe, or 
Cona, which falls into Lochleven, not far from the head of 
Loch Etive. It is distinguished, even in that wild country, 
by the sublimity of the mountains, rocks, and precipices, in 
which it lies buried. The minds of men are formed by 
their habitations. The MacDonalds of the Glen were not 
very numerous, seldom mustering above two hundred armed 
men : but they were bold and daring to a proverb, confident 
in the strength of their country, and in the protection and 
support of their kindred tribes, the MacDonalds of Clan- 
ranald. Glengarry, Keppoch, Ardnamurchan, and others of 
that powerful name. They also lay near the possessions of 
the Campbells, to whom, owing to the predatory habits 
to which they were especially addicted, they were very bad 
neighbours, so that blood had at different times been spilt 
between them. 

Before the end of January a party of the Earl of Argyle's 
regiment, commanded by Captain Campbell, of Glenlyon, 
16 



44 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

approached Glencoe. Maclan's^ sons went out to meet 
them with a body of men, to demand whether they came 
as friends or foes. The officer repUed that they came as 
friends, being sent to take up their quarters for a short 
time in Glencoe, in order to reHeve the garrison of Fort 
WiUiam, w^hich was crowded with soldiers. On this they 
were welcomed with all the hospitality which the chief and 
his followers had the means of extending to them, and they 
resided for fifteen days amongst the unsuspecting Mac- 
Donalds, in the exchange of every species of kindness 
and civility. That the laws of domestic affection might be 
violated at the same time w^ith those of humanity and 
hospitality, you are to understand that Alister MacDonald, 
one of the sons of Maclan, was married to a niece of Glen- 
lyon, who commanded the party of soldiers. It appears 
also that the intended cruelty was to be exercised upon 
defenceless men : for the MacDonalds, though afraid of no 
other ill-treatment from their military guests, had supposed 
it possible the soldiers might have a commission to- disarm 
them, and therefore had sent their w^eapons to a distance, 
where they might be out of reach of seizure. 

Glenlyon's party had remained in Glencoe for fourteen or 
fifteen days, when he received orders from his commanding 
officer, ISIajor Duncanson, expressed in a manner which 
shows him to have been the w^orthy agent of the cruel 
Secretary. 

This letter reached Glenlyon soon after it was written ; 
and he lost no time in carrying the dreadful mandate into 
execution. In the interval, he did not abstain from any of 
those acts of familiarity which had lulled asleep the suspi- 
cions of his victims. He took his morning draught, as had 
been his practice every day since he came to the glen, at 
the house of Alister MacDonald, Maclan's second son, who 
^ The chief of the clan. 



MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 45 

was married to his (Glenlyoii's) niece. He, and two of his 
officers, named Lindsay, accepted an invitation to dinner 
from Maclan himself for the following day, on which they 
had determined he should never see the sun rise. To com- 
plete the sum of treachery, Glenlyon played at cards in his 
own quarters with the sons of Maclan, John and Alister, 
both of whom were also destined for slaughter. 

About four o'clock in the morning of the 13th of Feb- 
ruary the scene of blood began. A party, commanded by 
one of the Lindsays, came to Maclan 's house and knocked 
for admittance, which was at once given. Lindsay, one of 
the expected guests at the family meal of the day, com- 
manded this party, who instantly shot Maclan dead by his 
own bedside, as he was in the act of dressing himself, and 
giving orders for refreshments to be provided for his fatal 
visitors. His aged wife was stripped by the savage soldiery, 
who at the same time drew off the gold rings from her 
fingers with their teeth. She died the next day, distracted 
with grief, and the brutal treatment slie had received. 
Several domestics and clansmen were killed at the same 
place. 

The two sons of the aged chieftain had not been alto- 
gether so confident as their father respecting the peaceful 
and friendly purpose of their guests. They observed, on 
the evening preceding the massacre, that the sentinels were 
doubled and the mainguard strengthened. John, the elder 
brother, had even overheard the soldiers muttering among 
themselves that they cared not about fighting the men of 
the glen fairly, but did not like the nature of the service 
they were engaged in ; while others consoled themselves 
with the military logic, that their officers must be answerable 
for the orders given, they having no choice save to obey 
them. Alarmed with what had been thus observed and heard, 
the young men hastened to Glenlyon's quarters, where they 



46 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

found that officer and his men preparing their arms. On ques- 
tioning him about these suspicious appearances, Glenlyon 
accounted for them by a story that he was bound on an ex- 
pedition against some of Glengarry's men ; and alluding to 
the circumstance of their alliance, which made his own 
cruelty more detestable, he added, " If anything evil had 
been intended, would I not have told Alister and my niece ? " 

Reassured by this communication, the young men retired 
to rest, but were speedily awakened by an old domestic, 
who called on the two brothers to rise and fly for their lives. 
" Is it time for you," he said, " to be sleeping, when your 
father is murdered on his own hearth ? " Thus roused, they 
hurried out in great terror, and heard throughout the glen, 
wherever there was a place of human habitation, the shouts 
of the murderers, the report of the muskets, the screams of 
the wounded, and the groans of the dying. By their perfect 
knowledge of the scarce accessible cliffs amongst which they 
dwelt, they were enabled to escape observation, and fled to 
the southern access of the glen. 

Meantime the work of death proceeded with as little 
remorse as Stair himself could have desired. Even the 
slight mitigation of their orders respecting those above 
seventy years was disregarded by the soldiery in their indis- 
criminate thirst for blood, and several very aged and bed- 
ridden persons were slain amongst others. At the hamlet 
where Glenlyon had his own quarters, nine men, including 
his landlord, were bound and shot like felons ; and one of 
them, MacDonald of Auchintriaten, had General Hill's 
passport in his pocket at the time. A fine lad of twenty 
had, by some glimpse of compassion on the part of the 
soldiers, been spared, when one Captain Drummond came 
up, and demanding why the orders were transgressed in that 
particular, caused him instantly to be put to death. A boy 
of five oir six years old clung to Glenlyon's knees, entreating 



MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 47 

for mercy, and offering to become his servant for life if he 
would spare him. Glenlyon was moved ; but the same 
Drummond stabbed the child with his dirk, while he was in 
this agony of supplication. 

At a place called Auchnaion one Barber, a sergeant, with 
a party of soldiers, fired on a group of nine MacDonalds, 
as they were assembled round their morning fire, and killed 
four of them. The owner of the house, a brother of the 
slain Auchintriaten, escaped unhurt, and expressed a v/ish to 
be put to death rather in the open air than within tlie house. 
" For your bread which I have eaten," answered Barber, " I 
will grant the request." MacDonald was dragged to the 
door accordingly; but he was an active man, and when 
the soldiers were presenting their firelocks to shoot him, he 
cast his plaid over their faces, and taking advantage of 
the confusion, broke from them, and escaped up the glen. 

The alarm being now general, many other persons, male 
and female, attempted their escape in the same manner as 
the two sons of Maclan and the person last mentioned. 
Flying from their burning huts, and from their murderous 
visitors, the half-naked fugitives committed themselves to a 
winter morning of darkness, snow, and storm, amidst a 
wilderness the most savage in the West Highlands, having 
a bloody death behind them, and before them tempest, 
famine, and desolation. Bewildered in the snow-wreaths, 
several sunk to rise no more. But the severities of the 
storm were tender mercies compared to the cruelty of their 
persecutors. The great fall of snow, which proved fatal to 
several of the fugitives, was the means of saving the rem- 
nant that escaped. Major Duncanson, agreeably to the 
plan expressed in his orders to Glenlyon, had not failed to 
put himself in motion, with four hundred men, on the 
evening preceding the slaughter ; and had he reached the 
eastern passes out of Glencoe by four in the morning as he 



48 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY, 

calculated, he must have intercepted and destroyed all those 
who took that only way of escape from Glenlyon and his 
followers. But as this reinforcement arrived so late as 
eleven in the forenoon, they found no MacDonald alive in 
Glencoe, save an old man of eighty, whom they slew ; and 
after burning such houses as were yet unconsumed, they 
collected the property of the tribe, consisting of twelve 
hundred head of cattle and horses, besides goats and sheep, 
and drove them off to the garrison of Fort William. 

Thus ended this horrible deed of massacre. The number 
of persons murdered was thirty-eight ; those who escaped 
might amount to a hundred and fifty males, who, with the 
women and children of the tribe, had to fly more than 
twelve miles through rocks and wildernesses, ere they could 
reach any place of safety or shelter. 



X. 

^ MARLBOROUGH AT BLENHEIM. 

GREEN. 

[The accession of William to the throne was followed by a 
great struggle with France, which was now striving to 
gain a supremacy over the whole of Europe. The 
war, which ended with the peace of Ryswick, was again 
reopened by an attempt to make the French virtually 
masters of Spain and its dominions ; and William, who 
was dying, begged his successor, Queen Anne, to entrust 
the English army to John Churchill, Earl of Marlborough. 
Churchill had been a finished and unscrupulous courtier 
under the Stuarts ;. he now showed himself the greatest 
general England has ever produced.] 

The new general ^ hastened to the Hague, received the 
command of the Dutch as well as of the English forces, 

1 Maiiborouzh. 



MARLBOROUGH AT BLENHEIM. 49 

and drew the German powers into the Confederacy with 
a skill and adroitness which even William^ might have 
envied. Never was greatness more quickly recognised than 
in the case of Marlborough. In a few months he was 
regarded by all as the guiding spirit of the Alliance, and 
princes whose jealousy had worn out the patience of 
William yielded without a struggle to the counsels of his 
successor. The temper, indeed, of Marlborough fitted him 
in an especial way to be the head of a great confederacy. 
Like William he owed little of his power to any early 
training. The trace of his neglected education was seen 
to the last in his reluctance to write. " Of all things," he 
said to his wife, " I do not love writing." To pen a 
despatch indeed was a far greater trouble to him than to 
plan a campaign. But nature had given him qualities 
which in other men spring specially from culture. His 
capacity for business was immense. During the next ten 
years he assumed the general direction of the war in 
Flanders and in Spain. He managed every negotiation 
with the courts of the allies. He watched over the shift- 
ing phases of English politics. He had to rross the 
Channel to win over Anne to a change in the Cabinet, or 
to hurry to Berlin to secure the due contingent of Electoral 
troops from Brandenburg. At the same moment he was 
reconciling the Emperor with the Protestants of Hungary, 
stirring the Calvinists of the Cevennes into revolt, arrang- 
ing the affairs of Portugal, and providing for the protection 
of the Duke of Savoy^ But his air showed no trace of 
fatigue or haste or vexation. He retained to the last the 
indolent grace of his youth. His natural dignity was 
never ruffled by an outbreak of temper. Amidst the storm 
of battle men saw him, "without fear of danger or in 
the least hurry, giving his orders with all the calmness 
'^ William the Third. 



50 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

imaginable." In the cabinet he was as cool as on the 
battle-field. He met with the same equable serenity the 
pettiness of the German princes, the phlegm of the Dutch, 
the ignorant opposition of his officers, the libels of his 
political opponents. There was a touch of irony in the 
simple expedients by which he sometimes solved prob- 
lems which had baffled Cabinets. The King of Prussia 
was one of the most vexatious among the allies, but all 
difficulty with him ceased when Marlborough rose at a state 
banquet and handed to him a napkin. 

Churchill's composure rested partly indeed on a pride 
which could not stoop to bare the real self within to the 
eyes of meaner men. In the bitter moments before his 
fall he bade Godolphin burn some querulous letters which 
the persecution of his opponents had wrung from him. 
'' My desire is that the world may continue in their error of 
thinking me a happy man, for I think it better to be envied 
than pitied/' But in great measure it sprang from the 
purely intellectual temper of his mind. His passion for 
his wife was the one sentiment which tinged the colourless 
light in which his understanding moved. In all else he 
was without love or hate, he knew neither doubt nor regret. 
In private life he was a humane and compassionate man ; 
but if his position required it he could betray English- 
men to death in his negotiations with St. Germains, or 
lead his army to a butchery such as that of Malplaquet. 
Of honour or the finer sentiments of mankind he knew 
nothing; and he turned without a shock from guiding 
Europe and winning great victories to heap up a matchless 
fortune by peculation and greed. He is perhaps the only 
instance of a man of real greatness who loved money for 
money's sake. The passions which stirred the men around 
him, whether noble or ignoble, were to him simply elements 
in an intellectual problem which had to be solved by 



MARLBOROUGH AT BLENHEIM. 51 

patience. " Patience will overcome all things," he writes again 
and again. "As I think most things are governed by destiny, 
having done all things we should submit with patience.'^ 

As a statesman the high qualities of Marlborough were 
owned by his bitterest foes. " Over the Confederacy," says 
Bolingbroke, ''he, a new, a private man, acquired by merit 
and management a more decided influence than high birth, 
confirmed authority, and even the crown of Great Britain, 
had given to King William." But great as he was in the 
council, he was even greater in the field. He stands alone 
amongst the masters of the art of war as a captain whose 
victories began at an age when the work of most men is 
done. Though he served as a young officer under Turenne 
and for a few months in Ireland and the Netherlands, 
he had held no great command till he took the field in 
Flanders at the age of fifty-two. He stands alone, too, in 
his unbroken good fortune. Voltaire notes that he never 
besieged a fortress which he did not take, or fought a battle 
which he did not win. His difficulties came not from the 
enemy, but from the ignorance and timidity of his own 
allies. He was never defeated on the field ; but victory 
after victory was snatched from him by the incapacity of his 
officers, or the stubbornness of the Dutch. In his second 
campaign of 1703, as in his earlier campaign of the pre- 
ceding year, his hopes were foiled by the deputies of the 
State-General. Serene as his temper was, it broke down 
before their refusal to co-operate in an attack on Antwerp 
and French Flanders ; and the prayers of Godolphin and of 
the pensionary Heinsius^ alone induced him to withdraw 
his offer of resignation. But in spite of victories on the 
Danube, the blunders of his adversaries on the Rhine, and 
the sudden aid of an insurrection which broke out in 
Hungar)', the difficulties of Lewis ^ were hourly increasing. 

3 T/te two leading ministers of England ajid Holla7id. 
* Lewis the Fourteenth 
16* 



52 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

The accession of Savoy to the Grand Alliance ^ threatened 
h-is armies in Italy with destruction. That of Portugal gave 
the allies a base of operations against Spain. His energy 
however rose with the pressure, and while the Duke of 
Berwick, a natural son of James the Second, was despatched 
against Portugal, and three small armies closed round Savoy, 
the flower of the French troops joined the army of Bavaria 
on the Danube, for the bold plan of Lewis was to decide 
the fortunes of the war by a victory which would wrest 
peace from the Empire under the walls of Vienna. 

The master-stroke of Lewis roused Marlborough at the 
opening of 1704 to a master-stroke in return ; but the 
secrecy and boldness of the Duke's plans deceived both 
his enemies and his allies. The French army in Flanders 
saw in his march upon Maintz only a transfer of the war 
into Elsass. The Dutch were lured into suffering their 
troops to be drawn as far from Flanders as Coblentz by 
proposals of a campaign on the Moselle. It was only when 
Marlborough crossed the Neckar and struck through the 
heart of Germany for the Danube that the true aim of his 
operations was revealed. After struggling through the hill 
country of Wiirtemberg, he joined the Imperial army under 
the Prince of Baden, stormed the heights of Donauworth, 
crossed the Danube and the Lech, and penetrated into the 
heart of Bavaria. The crisis drew the two armies which 
were facing one another on the Upper Rhine to the scene. 
The arrival of Marshal Tallard with thirty thousand 
French troops saved the Elector of Bavaria for the mo- 
ment from the need of submission. But the junction of 
his opponent, Prince Eugene,^ with Marlborough, raised 
the contending forces again to an equaHty; and after a 
few marches the armies met on the north bank of the 
Danube near the little town of Hochstadt and the village 

^ The league of the states opposed to Lewis was called the 
Grand Alliance. ^ The commander of the Austrian army. 



MARLBOROUGH AT BLENHEIM. 53 

of Blindheim or Blenheim, which have given their names 
to the battle. 

In one respect the struggle which followed stands almost 
unrivalled in history, for the whole of the Teutonic race 
was represented in the strange medley of Englishmen, 
Dutchmen, Hanoverians, Danes, Wiirtembergers and 
Austrians who followed Marlborough and Eugene. The 
French and Bavarians who numbered, like their opponents, 
some fifty thousand men, lay behind a little stream which 
ran through swampy ground to the Danube. The position 
was a strong one, for the front was covered by the swamp, 
its right by the Danube, its left by the hill country in which 
the stream rose, and Tallard had not only entrenched him- 
self, but was far superior to his rival in artillery. But for 
once Marlborough's hands were free. " I have great reason," 
he wrote calmly home, " to hope that everything will go 
well, for I have the pleasure to find all the ofhcers willing 
to obey without knowing any other reason than that it is, 
my desire, which is very different from what it was in 
Flanders, where I was obliged to have the consent of. a 
council of war for everything I undertook." So formidable 
were the obstacles, however, that though the allies were in 
motion at sunrise on the 2nd of August, it was not till 
midday that Eugene, who commanded on the right, suc- 
ceeded in crossing the stream. The Enghsh foot at once 
forded it on the left and attacked the village of Blindheim 
in which the bulk of the French infantry were entrenched, 
but after a furious struggle the attack was repulsed, while as 
gallant a resistance at the other end of the line held Eugene 
in check. The centre, however, which the French believed 
to be imassailable, had been chosen by Marlborough for 
the chief point of attack, and by making an artificial road 
across the morass he was at last enabled to throw his eight 
thousand horsemen on the French horse which lay covered 



54 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

by it. Two desperate charges, which the Duke headed in 
person, decided the day. The French centre was flung 
back on the Danube and forced to surrender. Their left 
fell back in. confusion on Hochstadt ; their right, cooped up 
in Blindheim and cut off from retreat, became prisoners of 
war. Of the defeated army only twenty thousand escaped. 
Twelve thousand were slain, fourteen thousand were 
captured. Germany was finally freed from the French, and 
Marlborough, who followed the wreck of the French host 
in its flight to Elsass, soon made himself master of the 
Lower Moselle. But the loss of France could not be 
measured by men or fortresses. A hundred victories since 
Rocroi had taught the world to regard the French army as 
invincible, when Blenheim and the surrender of the flower 
of the French soldiery broke the spell. From that moment 
the terror of victory passed to the side of the allies, and 
" Malbrook " became a name of fear to every child in 
France. 



XI. 

SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. 

MACAULAY. 

[The victories of Marlborough at la'st forced France to aban- 
don her schemes of ambition ; but an intrigue drove the 
great general from England till the death of Anne. Her 
successor, George the First, was an Elector of Hanover, 
descended, through his mother, from James the First, 
and the nearest Protestant heir to the crown. His throne, 
like that of his son, George the Second, was threatened 
by the Jacobites, or adherents of the exiled family of 
James the Second. The son and grandson of James, 
who were known as the Old and Young Pretenders, 
both made fruitless attempts to raise revolts against 



SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. 55 

the Hanoverian kings. What really secured the power 
of the Georges was the general content of the people with 
the good government of their great minister, Sir Robert 
Walpole.] 

Sir Robert Walpole had, undoubtedly, great talents 
and great virtues. He was not indeed like the leaders of 
the party which opposed his government, a brilliant orator. 
He was not a profound scholar, like Carteret, or a wit and 
a fine gentleman like Chesterfield. In all these respects 
his deficiencies were remarkable. His literature consisted 
of a scrap or two of Horace and an anecdote or two from 
the end of the Dictionary. His knowledge of history was 
so limited that, in the great debate on the Excise Bill, he 
was forced to ask Attorney-General Yorke who Empson and 
Dudley ^ were. His manners were a little too coarse and 
boisterous even for that age of Westerns and Topehalls. 
When he ceased to talk of politics, he could talk of nothing 
but women ; and he dilated on his favourite theme with a 
freedom which shocked even that plain-spoken generation, 
and which was quite unsuited to his age and station. The 
noisy revelry of his summer festivities at Houghton gave 
much scandal to grave people and annually drove his kins- 
man and colleague. Lord Townshend, from the neighbour- 
ing mansion of Rainham. 

But however ignorant Walpole might be of general history 
and of general literature, he was better acquainted than any 
man of his day with what it concerned him most to know — 
mankind, the English nation, the court, the House of Com- 
mons, and the Treasury. Of foreign affairs he knew little ; 
but his judgement was so good that his little knowledge 
went very far. He was an excellent parliamentary debater, 
an excellent parliamentary tactician, an excellent man of 
business. No man ever brought more industry or more 
^ The exto7-tio7iaie 7niniste?'s of Heiuy the Seventh. 



56 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY 

method to the transacting of affairs. No minister in his 
time did so much ; yet no minister had so much leisure. 

He was a good-natured man, who had during thirty years 
seen nothing but the worst parts of human nature in other 
men. He was famiHar with the malice of kind people, and 
the perfidy of honourable people. Proud men had licked 
the dust before him. Patriots - had begged him to come up 
to the price of their puffed and • advertised integrity. He 
said after his fall that it was a dangerous thing to be a 
minister, that there were few minds which would not be in- 
jured by the constant spectacle of meanness and depravity. 
To his honour it must be confessed that few minds have 
come out of such a trial so little damaged in the most im- 
portant parts. He retired, after more than twenty years of 
supreme power, with a temper not soured, with a heart not 
hardened, with simple tastes, with frank manners, and with 
a capacity for friendship. No stain of treachery, of ingrati- 
tude, or of cruelty rests on his memory. Factious hatred, while 
flinging on his nam.e every other foul aspersion, was com- 
pelled to own that he was not a man of blood. This would 
scarcely seem a high eulogium on a statesman of our times. 
It was then a rare and honourable distinction. The contests 
of parties in England had long been carried on with a 
ferocity unworthy of a civilised people. Sir Robert Walpole 
was the minister who gave to our government that charac- 
ter of lenity which it has since generally preserved. It was 
perfectly known to him that many of his opponents had 
dealings with the Pretender. The lives of some were at his 
mercy. He wanted neither Whig nor Tory precedents for 
using his advantage unsparingly. But with a clemency to 
which posterity has never done justice, he suffered himself 
to be thwarted, vilified, and at last overthrown by a party 
which included many men whose necks were in his power. 
2 The opponents of Walpole took the name of ^^ patriots.'" 



SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. 57 

That he practised corruption ^ on a large scale is, we 
think indisputable. But whether he deserves all the invec- 
tives which have been uttered against him on that account 
may be questioned. The Parliament could not go on unless 
the Parliament could be kept in order. And how was the 
Parliament to be kept in order ? Three hundred years ago 
it would have been enough for a statesman to have the sup- 
port of the crown. It would now, we hope and believe, be 
enough for him to enjoy the confidence and approbation of 
the great body of the middle class. A hundred years ago 
it would not have been enough to have both crown and 
people on his side. The Parliament had shaken off the 
control of the royal prerogative. It had not yet fallen under 
the control of public opinion. A large proportion of the 
members had absolutely no motive to support any adminis- 
tration except their own interest, in the lowest sense of the 
word. Under these circumstances the country could be 
governed only by corruption. Bolingbroke, who was the 
ablest and most vehement of those who raised the clamour 
against corruption had no better remedy to propose than 
that the royal prerogative should be strengthened. The 
remedy would, no doubt, have been efficient. The only 
question is, whether it would not have been worse than the 
disease. The fault was in the constitution of the legislature ; 
and to blame those ministers who managed the legislature 
in the only way in which it could be managed is gross 
injustice. They submitted to extortion because they could 
not help themselves. We might as well accuse the poor 
Lowland farmers who paid black mail to Rob Roy of cor- 
rupting the virtue of the Highlanders, as accuse Sir Robert 
Walpole of corrupting the virtue of Parliament. His crime 
was merely this, that he employed his money more dex- 
terously, and got more support in return for it than any of 
3 Bribery of meinbers of parliament. 



58 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

those who preceded or followed him. He was himself in- 
corruptible by money. His dominant passion was the love 
of power ; and the heaviest charge which can be brought 
against him is that to this passion he never scrupled to 
sacrifice the interests of his country. 

One of the maxims, which, as his son tells us, he was 
most in the habit of repeating, was, qtiieta nofi jnovere.^ It 
was indeed the maxim by which he generally regulated his 
public conduct. It is the maxim of a man more solicitous 
to hold power long than to use it well. It is remarkable 
that, though he was at the head of affairs during more than 
twenty years, not one great measure, not one important 
change for the better or for the worse in any part of our 
institutions marks the period of his suprem^acy. Nor was 
this because he did not clearly see that many changes were 
very desirable. He had been brought up in the school of 
toleration, at the feet of Somers and of Burnet. He dis- 
liked the shameful laws against Dissenters. But he never 
could be induced to bring forward a proposition for repeal- 
ing them. The sufferers represented to him the injustice 
with which they were treated, boasted of their firm attach- 
ment to the House of Brunswick ^ and to the Whig party, 
and reminded him of his own repeated declaration of good 
will to their cause. He listened, assented, promised, and 
did nothing. At length the question was brought forward 
by others, and the minister after a hesitating and evasive 
speech voted against it. The truth was that he remembered 
to the latest day of his life that terrible explosion of high- 
church feeling which the foolish prosecution of a foolish 
parson had occasioned in the days of Queen Anne. If 
the Dissenters had been turbulent he would probably have 
relieved them : but while he apprehended no danger from 
them, he would not run the slightest risk for their sake. 

* ^^ Let thin (^s alone.'' ^ ^ The line of the Hanoverian kings. 



SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. 59 

He acted in the same manner with respect to other ques- 
tions. He knew the state of the Scotch Highlands. He 
was constantly predicting another insurrection in that part 
of the empire. Yet, during his long tenure of power, he 
never attempted to perform what was then the most obvious 
and pressing duty of a British statesman, to break the power 
of the chiefs, and to establish the authority of law through 
the furthest corners of the island. Nobody knew better than 
he that, if this were not done, great mischiefs would follow. 
He was content to meet daily emergencies by daily expe- 
dients ; and he left the rest to his successors. They had 
to conquer the Highlands in the midst of a war with France 
and Spain, because he had not regulated the Highlands in 
a time of profound peace. 

Sometimes, in spite of all his caution, he found that 
measures which he had hoped to carry through quietly had 
caused great agitation. When this was the case he gene- 
rally modified or withdrew them. It was thus that he can- 
celled Wood's patent in compliance with the absurd outcry 
of the Irish. It was thus that he frittered away the Por- 
teous Bill*^ to nothing, for fear of exasperating the Scotch. 
It was thus that he abandoned the Excise Bill, as soon as he 
found that it was offensive to all the great towns of England. 
The language which he held about that measure in a subse- 
quent session is strikingly characteristic. Pulteney had 
insinuated that the scheme would be again brought forward. 
'' As to the wicked scheme," said Walpole, '' as the gentle- 
man is pleased to call it, which he would persuade gentlemen 
is not yet laid aside, I, for my part, assure this House I am 
not so mad as ever again to engage in anything that looks 
like an Excise ; though in my private opinion, I still think 

^6 A bill for mjli.cting on Edinburgh the piinish7ne7it due to 
rioters who had murdered Captain Porteoiis in the streets. 



6o PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISPI HISTORY. 

it was a scheme that would have tended very much to the 
interest of the nation." 

The conduct of Walpole with regard to the Spanish war '^ 
is the great blemish of his public life. " Did the adminis- 
tration of Walpole," says his biographer, " present any uni- 
form principle which may be traced in every part, and which 
gave combination and consistency to the whole ? Yes, and 
that principle was The Love of Peace." It would be 
difficult, we think, to bestow a higher eulogium on any 
statesman. But the eulogium is far too high for the merits 
of Walpole. The great ruling principle of his pubHc conduct 
was indeed a love of peace, but not in the sense in which 
his biographer uses the phrase. The peace which Walpole 
sought was not the peace of the countr}^, but the peace of 
his own administration. During the greater part of his 
public life, indeed, the two objects were inseparably con- 
nected. At length he was -reduced to the necessity of 
choosing between them, of plunging the State into hostilities 
for which there was no just ground, and by which nothing 
was to be got, or of facing a violent opposition in the 
country, in Parliament, and even in the royal closet. No 
person was more thoroughly convinced than he of the 
absurdity of the cry against Spain. But his darling power 
was at stake, and his choice was soon made. He pre- 
ferred an unjust war to a stormy session. It is impossible 
to say of a minister who acted thus that the love of peace 
was the one grand principle to which all his conduct is to 
be referred. The governing principle of his conduct was 
neither love of peace nor love of war, but love of power. 

The praise to which he is fairly entitled is this, that he 
understood the true interest of his country better than any 

"^ At the close of Walpole' s rule ill-iuill sprajio up between 
England ajid Spain : and Walpole, thongh conscious of the in- 
expediency of the war J yielded to the poptUar outcry. 



BATTLE OF PRESTON PANS. 6i 

of his contemporaries, and that he pursued that interest 
whenever it was not incompatible with the interest of his 
own intense and grasping ambition. 



XII. 

BATTLE OF PRESTON PANS. 

SCOTT. 

Under Walpole England gradually learned what freedom 
really meant. Men enjoyed personal as well as political 
liberty; justice was fairly administered; while the long 
peace enabled the country to develop new sources of 
commercial and industrial wealth. It was this that ren- 
dered it deaf to the call of the young Pretender, Charles 
Edward Stuart, when he landed in Scotland in 1745. 
Only the wild clans of the Highlands joined liim. But 
their successes were at first amazing. The young Prince 
occupied Edinburgh, and boldly advanced on the royal 
force which lay at Preston Pans. In the early morning he 
determined to attack it by crossing a morass which pro- 
tected its flank.] 

The whole of the Highland army got under arms, and 
moved forward with incredible silence and celerity by the 
path proposed. A point of precedence was now to be 
settled, characteristic of the Highlanders. The tribe of 
MacDonalds, though divided into various families, and 
serving under various chiefs, still reckoned on their common 
descent from the great Lords of the Isles, in virtue of which, 
they claimed, as the post of honour, the right of the whole 
Highland army in the day of action. This was disputed by 
some of the other clans, and it was agreed they should cast 
lots about this point of precedence. Fortune gave it to the 
Camerons and Stewarts, which was murmured at by the 
numerous Clan-Colla, the generic name for the MacDonalds. 



62 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

The sagacity of Lochiel induced the other chiefs to resign- for 
the day a point on which they were likely to be tenacious. 
The precedence was yielded to the MacDonalds accordingly, 
and the first line of the Highlanders moved off their ground 
by the left flank, in order that the favoured tribe might take 
the post of honour. 

Anderson guided the first line. He found the pathway 
silent and deserted ; it winded to the north-east, down a 
sort of holiow, which at length brought them to the eastern 
extremity of the plain, at the west end of which the regular 
army was stationed, with its left flank to the assailants. No 
guns had been placed to enfilade this important pass, though 
there was a deserted embrasure which showed that the 
measure had been in contemplation ; neither was there a 
sentinel or patrol to observe the motions of the Highlanders 
in that direction. On reaching the firm ground, the column 
advanced due northward across the plain, in order to take 
ground for wheeling up and forming line of battle. The 
Prince marched at the head of the second column, and 
close in the rear of the first. The morass was now rendered 
difficult by the passage of so many men. Some of the 
Highlanders sunk knee-deep, and the Prince himself 
stumbled, and fell upon one knee. The morning was now 
dawning, but a thick frosty mist still hid the motions of the 
Highlanders. The sound of their march could, however, 
no longer be concealed, and an alarm-gun was fired as a 
signal for Cope's ^ army to get under arms. 

Aware that the Highlanders had completely turned his 
left flank, and were now advancing from the eastward along a 
level and open plain, without interruption of any kind. Sir 
John Cope hastened to dispose his troops to receive them. 
Though probably somewhat surprised, the English general 
altered the disposition which he had made along the morass, 
^ Sir John Cope com7nanded the royal army. 



BATTLE OF PRESTON PANS. 63 

and formed anew, having the walls of Preston-park, and that 
of Bankton, the seat of Colonel Gardiner, close in the rear of 
his army ; his left flank extended towards the sea, his right 
rested upon the morass which had lately been in his front. 
His order of battle was now extended from north to south, 
having the east in front. In other respects the disposition 
was the same as already mentioned, his infantry forming his 
centre, and on each wing a regiment of horse. By some 
crowding in of the piquets, room enough was not left for 
Gardiner's corps to make a full front upon the right wing, 
so that one squadron was drawn up in the rear of the other. 
The artillery was also placed before this regiment, a dis- 
position which the colonel is said to have remonstrated 
against, having too much reason to doubt the steadiness of 
the horses, as well as of the men who composed the corps. 
There was no attention paid to his remonstrances, nor was 
there time to change the disposition. 

The Highlanders had no sooner advanced so far to the 
northward as to extricate the rear of the column from the 
passage across the morass, and place the whole on open 
ground, than they wheeled to the left, and formed a line of 
three men deep. This thin long line they quickly broke up 
into a number of small masses or phalanxes, each according 
to their peculiar tactics containing an individual clan, which 
disposed themselves for battle in the manner following. 
The best-born men of 'the tribe, who were also the best 
armed, and had almost all targets, threw themselves in front 
of the regiment. The followers closed on the rear,* and 
forced the front forward by their weight. After a brief 
prayer, which was never omitted, the bonnets were pulled 
over the brows, the pipers blew the signal, and the line of 
clans rushed forward, each forming a separate wedge. 

These preparations were made with such despatch on 
both wings, that the respective aides-de-camp of the Duke 



64 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

of Perth and Lord George Murray- met in the centre, each 
bringing news that his general was ready to charge. The 
whole front line accordingly moved forward, and, as they did 
so, the sun broke out, and the mist rose from the ground 
like the curtain of a theatre. It showed to the Highlanders 
the line of regular troops drawn up in glittering array like a 
complete hedge of steel, and at the same time displayed 
to Cope's soldiers the furious torrent, which, subdivided 
into such a number of columns, or rather small masses, 
advanced with a cry which gradually swelled into a hideous 
yell, and became intermingled with an irregular but well- 
directed fire, the mountaineers presenting their pieces as 
they ran, dropping them when discharged, and rushing on 
to close conflict sword in hand. The events of the pre- 
ceding night had created among the regulars an apprehension 
of their opponents, not usual to English soldiers. General 
Cope's tactics displayed a fear of the enemy rather than a 
desire to engage him : and now this dreaded foe, having 
selected his own point of advantage, was coming down on 
them in all his terrors, with a mode of attack unusually 
furious, and unknown to modern war. 

There was but an instant to think of these things, for this 
was almost the moment of battle. But such thoughts were 
of a nature which produce their effect in an instant, and 
they added to the ferocity of the Highlanders, while they 
struck dismay into their opponents. The old seamen and 
gunners, who had been employed to serve the artillery on 
the right wing, showed the first symptoms of panic, and 
fled from the guns they had undertaken to work, carrying 
with them the priming flasks. Colonel Whitefoord, who 
had joined Cope's army as a volunteer, fired five of the 
guns on the advancing Highlanders, and, keeping his ground 
while all fled around him, was with difficulty saved from the 
2 Two generals under Charles Edward, 



BATTLE OF PRESTON PANS. 65 

fury of the Camerons and Stewarts, who, running straight 
on the muzzles of the cannon, actually stormed the battery. 
The regiment of dragoons being drawn up, as has been 
said, in two lines, the foremost squadron, under Lieutenant- 
Colonel Whitney, having received orders to advance, were, 
like the gunners, seized with a panic, dispersed under the 
fire of the Highlanders, and went off without even an 
attempt to charge, riding down the artillery guard in their 
flight. The rearmost squadron, commanded by Gardiner, 
might, if steady, have yet altered the fate of the day, by 
charging the Highlanders when disordered with attacking 
the guns. Gardiner, accordingly, commanded them to 
advance and charge, encouraging them by his voice and 
example to rush upon the confused masses before them. 
But those to whom he spoke were themselves disordered 
at the rapid advance of the enemy, and disturbed by the 
waving of plaids, the brandishing and gleaming of broad- 
swords and battle-axes, the rattle of the dropping fire, and 
the ferocious cry of the combatants. They made a feint to 
advance, in obedience to the word of command, but almost 
instantly halted, when first the rear-rank went off by foiir 
or five files at a time, and then the front dispersed in like 
manner; none maintaining their ground, except about a 
score of determined men, who were resolved to stand or 
fall with their commander. 

On Cope's left, the cause of King George was not more 
prosperous. Hamilton's dragoons receiving a heavy rolling 
fire from the MacDonalds as they advanced, broke up in 
the same manner, and almost at the same moment, with 
Gardiner's, and scattering in every direction, left the field 
of blood, galloping some from the enemy, some, in the 
recklessness of their terror, past the enemy, and some 
almost through them. The dispersion was complete, and 
the disorder irretrievable. They fled west, east, and south, 



66 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

and it was only the broad sea which prevented them from 
flying to the north also, and making every point of the 
compass witness to their rout. 

Meantime, the infantry, though both their flanks were 
uncovered by the flight of the dragoons, received the centre 
of the Highland line with a steady and regular fire, which 
cost the insurgents several men, — among others, James 
MacGregor, a son of the famous Rob Roy, fell, having 
received five wounds, two of them from balls that pierced 
through his body. He commanded a company of the Duke 
of Perth's regiment, armed chiefly with the straightened 
scythes already mentioned, a weapon not unlike the old 
English bill. He was so litde daunted by his wounds, as 
to raise himself on his elbow, calling to his men to advance 
bravely, and swearing he would see if any should misbehave. 
In fact, the first line of the Highlanders were not an 
instant checked by the fire of the musketry ; for, charging 
with all the energy of victory, they parried the bayonets of 
the soldiers with their targets, and the deep clumps, or 
masses, into which the clans were • formed, penetrated and 
broke, in several points, the extended and thin lines of the 
regulars. At the same moment, Lochiel attacking the 
infantry on the left, and Clanranald on the right flank, both 
exposed by the flight of the dragoons, they were unavoidably 
and irretrievably routed. It was now perceived that Sir 
John Cope had committed an important error in drawing 
up his forces in front of a high park-wall, which barred 
their escape from their light-heeled enemies. Fortunately 
there had been breaches made in the wall, which permitted 
some few soldiers to escape ; but most of them had the 
melancholy choice of death or submission. A few fought, 
and fell bravely. Colonel Gardiner was in the act of en- 
couraging a small platoon of infantry, which continued 
firing, when he was cut down by a Highlander, with one of 



WHITEFIELD AND WESLEY. 67 

those scythes which have been repeatedly mentioned. The 
greater part of. the foot soldiers then laid down their arms, 
after a few minutes' resistance. 



XIII. 

WHITEFIELD AND WESLEY. 

GREEN. 

[His victory at Preston Pans encouraged Charles Edward to 
advance into England ; but no one joined him, and fall- 
ing back on Scotland he was finally routed at Culloden. 
With his attempt ended all hope of overthrowing the 
Hanoverian throne by force of arms. Men began to 
forget Jacobitism in the larger interests of the time. 
Wealth grew fast, population increased, a new literature, 
sprang up, above all England was stirred by a new revival 
of religion.] 

The revival began in a small knot of Oxford students, 
whose revolt against the re igious deadness of their times 
showed itself in ascetic observances, an enthusiastic devo- 
tion, and a methodical regularity of life which gained them 
the nickname of "Methodists." Three figures detached 
themselves from the group as soon as, on its transfer to 
London in 1738, it attracted public attention by the fervour 
and even extravagance of its piety; and each found his 
special work in the great task to which the instinct of the 
new movement led it from the first, that of carrying religion 
and morality to the vast masses of population which lay con- 
centrated in the towns or around the mines and collieries 
of Cornwall and the north. Whitefield, a servitor of Pem- 
broke College, was above all the preacher of the revival. 
Speech was governing English politics ; and the religious 
power., of speech was shown when a dread of " enthusiasm " 



17 



68 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

closed against the new apostles the pulpits of. the Established 
Church, and forced them to preach in the fields. Their 
voice was soon heard in the wildest and most barbarous 
corners of the land, among the bleak moors of Northumber- 
land, or in the dens of London, or in the long galleries 
where the Cornish miner hears in the pauses of his labour 
the sobbing of the sea. Whitefield's preaching was such as 
England had never heard before, theatrical, extravagant, 
often commonplace, but hushing all criticism by its intense 
reality, its earnestness of belief, its deep tremulous sym- 
pathy with the sin and sorrow of mankind. It was no 
common enthusiast who could wring gold from the close- 
fisted Franklin and admiration from the fastidious Horace 
Walpole, or who could look down from the top of a green 
knoll at Kingswood on twenty thousand colliers, grimy from 
the Bristol coal-pits, and see as he preached the tears 
"making white channels down their blackened cheeks." 
On the rough and ignorant masses to whom they spoke the 
effect of Whitefield and his fellow Methodists was terrible 
both for good and ill. Their preaching stirred a passionate 
hatred in their opponents. Their lives were often in danger, 
they were mobbed, they were ducked, they were stoned, 
they were smothered with filth. But the enthusiasm they 
aroused was equally passionate. Women fell down in con- 
vulsions ; strong men were smitten suddenly to the earth ; 
the preacher was interrupted by bursts of hysteric laughter 
or of hysteric sobbing. All the phenomena of strong 
spiritual excitement, so familiar now, but at that time 
strange and unknown, followed on their sermons ; and the 
terrible sense of a conviction of sin, a new dread of hell, a 
new hope of heaven, took forms at once grotesque and 
sublime. Charles Wesley, a Christ Church student, came to 
add sweetness to this sudden and startling light. He was 
the " sweet singer " of the movement. His hymns expressed 



/ 



WHITEFIELD AND WESLEY. 69 

the fiery conviction of its converts in lines so chaste and 
beautiful that its more extravagant features disappeared. 
The wild throes of hysteric enthusiasm passed into a 
passion for hymn-singing, and a new musical impulse was 
aroused in the people which gradually changed the face of 
public devotion throughout England. 

But it was his elder brother, John Wesley, who embodied 
in himself not this or that side of the vast movement, but 
the very movement itself Even at Oxford, where he re- 
sided as a Fellow of Lincoln^ he had been looked upon as 
head of the group of Methodists, and after his return from 
a quixotic mission to the Indians of Georgia he again took 
the lead of the little society, which had removed in fhe 
interval to London. In power as a preacher he stood 
next to Whitefield ; as a hymn-writer he stood second to his 
brother Charles. But while combining in some degree the 
excellences of either, he possessed qualities in which both 
were utterly deficient ; an indefatigable industry, a cool 
judgment, a command over others, a faculty of organization, 
a singular union of patience and moderation with an im- 
perious ambition, which marked him as a ruler of men. He 
had, besides, a learning and skill in writing which no other 
of the Methodists possessed ; he was older than any of his 
colleagues at the start of the movement, and he outHved 
them all. His life indeed from 1703 to 1791 almost covers 
the century, and the Methodist body had passed through 
every phase of its history before he sank into the grave at 
the age of eighty-eight. 

It would have been impossible for Wesley to have 
wielded the power he did had he not shared the follies 
and extravagance as well as the enthusiasm of his disciples. 
Throughout his life his asceticism was that of a monk. 
At times he lived on bread only, and often slept on 
the bare boards. He lived in a world of wonders and 



70 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

divine interpositions. It was a miracle if the rain stopped 
and allowed him to set forward on a journey. It was a judg- 
ment of Heaven if a hailstorm burst over a town which had 
been deaf to his preaching. One day, he tells us, when he 
was tired and his horse fell lame, " I thought — cannot God 
heal either man or beast by any means or without any ? — 
immediately my headache ceased and my horse's lameness 
in the same instant." With a still more childish fanaticism 
he guided his conduct, whether in ordinary events or in the 
great crises of his life, by drawing lots or watching the par- 
ticular texts at which his Bible opened. But with all this 
extravagance and superstition, Wesley's mind was essentially 
practical, orderly, and conservative. No man ever stood at 
the head of a great revolution whose temper was so anti- 
revolutionary. In his earlier days the bishops had been 
forced to rebuke him for the narrowness and intolerance of 
his churchmanship. When Whitefield began his sermons in 
the fields, Wesley " could not at first reconcile himself to 
that strange way." He condemned and fought against the 
admission of laymen as preachers till he found himself left 
with none but laymen to preach. To the last he clung 
passionately to the Church of England, and looked on the 
body he had formed as but a lay society in full communion 
with it. He broke with the Moravians, who had been the 
earhest friends of the new movement, when they endangered 
its safe conduct by their contempt of religious forms. He 
broke with Whitefield when the great preacher plunged into 
an extravagant Calvinism. 

But the same practical temper of mind which led him to 
reject what was unmeasured, and to be the last to adopt 
what was new, enabled him at once to grasp and organize 
the novelties he adopted. He became himself the most 
unwearied of field preachers, and his journal for half 
a century is little more than a record of fresh journeys 



CLIVE AT ARCOT. 71 

and fresh sermons. When once driven to employ lay 
helpers in his ministry he made their work a new and 
attractive feature in his system. His earlier asceticism 
only hngered in a dread of social enjoyments and an 
aversion from the gayer and sunnier side of life which links 
the Methodist movement with that of the Puritans. As the 
fervour of his superstition died down into the calm of age, 
his cool common sense discouraged in his followers the 
enthusiastic outbursts which marked the opening of the re- 
vival. His powers were bent to the building up of a great 
religious society which might give to the new enthusiasm a 
lasting and practical form. The Methodists were grouped 
into classes, gathered in love-feasts, purified by the expulsion 
of unworthy members, and furnished with an alternation of 
settled ministers and wandering preachers ; while the whole 
body was placed under the absolute government of a 
Conference of ministers. But so long as he lived the 
direction of the new religious society remained with Wesley 
alone. " If by arbitrary power," he replied with a charming 
simplicity to objectors, " you mean a power which I exercise 
simply without any colleagues therein, this is certainly true, 
but I see no hurt in it." 



XIV. 

CLIVE AT ARCOT. 
STANHOPE. 

[While these peaceful changes were taking place in England 
itself, Englishmen across far-off seas were beginning to 
build up the great empire we now hold in India. English 
merchants had long setded on its coasts : their settle- 
ments grew into independent presidencies ; and the limits 
of these widened as the traders profited by the quarrels of 



72 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

the neighbouring princes. But this slow growth was 
changed into a vast scheme of conquest by the genius 
of Robert Clive.] 

The father of Clive was a gentleman of old family, but 
small estate, residing near Market-Drayton in Shropshire. 
There Robert, his eldest son, was born in 1725. From 
early childhood the boy showed a most daring and tur- 
bulent spirit. His uncle thus writes of him, even in his 
seventh year : " I hope I have made a little further con- 
quest over Bob. . . . But his fighting, to which he is out 
of measure addicted, gives his temper so much fierceness 
and imperiousness that he flies out upon every trifling oc- 
casion ; for this reason I do what I can to suppress the 
hero." The people at Drayton long remembered how 
they saw young Clive climb their lofty steeple, and seated 
astride a spout near the top, — how, on another occasion, 
he flung himself into the gutter to form a dam, and assist 
his playmates in flooding the cellar of a shopkeeper with 
whom he had quarrelled. At various schools to which he 
was afterwards sent he appears to have been idle and in- 
tractable. Even in after life he was never remarkable for 
scholarship ; and his friendly biographer admits that, wide 
as was his influence over the native tribes of India, he was 
little, if at all, acquainted with their languages. His father 
was soon off'ended at his waywardness and neglect of his 
studies, and, instead of a profession at home, obtained for 
him a vnritership in the East India Company's ^ service, and 
in the Presidency of Madras. Some years later, when the 
old gentleman was informed of his son's successes and dis- 
tinctions, he used to exclaim, half in anger and half in pride, 
" After all the booby has sense ! " 

The feelings of Clive during his first years at Madras are 

^ Tlie body of 7nerchants who alo7te had the right to trade 
with India. 



CLIVE AT ARCOT. 73 

described in his own letters. Thus he writes to his cousin : 
"I may safely say I have not enjoyed one happy day since 
I left my native country. I am not acquainted with any 
one family in the place, and have not assurance enough to 
introduce myself without being asked. . . . Letters to friends 
were surely first invented for the" comfort of such solitary 
wretches as myself." There is no doubt that the climate 
at Madras was unfavourable to his health, and his duty at 
the desk ill-suited to his temper. But worse than any other 
discomfort was his own constitutional and morbid melan- 
choly- — a melancholy which may yet be traced in the expres- 
sion of his portraits, and which, afterwards heightened as 
it was by bodily disease and mental irritation, closed the 
career of this great chief, by the act of his own hand, before 
he had attained the age of fifty years. As a writer at Madras 
he twice one day snapped a pistol at his own head. Find- 
ing it miss fire, he calmly waited until his room was entered 
by an acquaintance, whom he requested to fire the pistol 
out of the window. The gentleman did so, and the pistol 
went off. At this proof that it had been rightly loaded, 
Clive sprang up, with the exclamation, " Surely then I am 
reserved for something ! " and relinquished his design. 

From this time forward, however, the undaunted spirit 
of Clive found a nobler scope against the public enemy. 
During the petty hostilities between the English and French 
traders in India, — when the merchant's clerks were almost 
compelled in self-defence to turn soldiers, — the name of 
Ensign or Lieutenant Clive is often, and always honour- 
ably, mentioned ; and during the intervals of these hos- 
tilities he returned to his ledgers and accounts. But on 
the emergency produced by the successes of Dupleix,^ 
the siege of Trichinopoly,^ and the departure of Major 

* A Fretichmaii of genius zulio won the Indian princes to his 
side, and resolved to drive the Eiiglish froin India. ^ Chunda 



74 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

LavvTence, he accepted a captain's commission, and bade 
adieu to trade. With no military education, with so Httle 
military experience, this young man of twenty-five shone 
forth, not only, as might have been foreseen, — a most 
courageous, but a most skilful and accomplished com- 
mander ; — a commander, as Lord Chatham once ex- 
claimed, " whose resolution would charm the King of 
Prussia, and whose presence of mind has astonished the 
Indies." At this crisis he discerned that, although it was 
not possible to afford relief to Trichinopoly, a diversion 
might still be effected by a well-timed surprise of Arcot, 
thus compelling Chunda Sahib to send a large detachment 
from his army. The heads of the Presidency, on whom he 
strenuously urged his views, not only approved the design, 
but accepted the offer of his own services for its execution. 
Accordingly, in August, 1751, Captain Clive marched from 
Madras at the head of only 300 Sepoys'* and 200 Europeans. 
Scanty as seems this force, it could only be formed by 
reducing the garrison at Fort St. David to 100 and the gar- 
rison of Madras to 50 men; and of the eight officers under 
Clive, six had never before been in action, and four were 
merchants' clerks, who, incited by his example, took up the 
sword to follow him. 

A few days' march brought the little band within ten 
miles of Arcot, and within sight of the outposts of the 
garrison. There a violent storm of thunder, lightning, and 
rain arose, through which, however, Clive undauntedly 
pushed forward. Slight as seems this incident, it became 
attended with important results, for the garrison, apprised 
by their outposts of the behaviour of the English, were 
seized with a superstitious panic, as though their opponents 

Sa/nd, a prince in alliance with the French^ had attacked 
Trichinopoly^ whose ruler was on the side of the English. 
* Native troops. 



CLIVE AT ARCOT. 75 

were in league with the Heavens, and they fled precipi- 
tately, not only from the city, but from the citadel. Thus 
Clive, without having struck a blow, marched through the 
streets amidst a concourse of a hundred thousand specta- 
tors, and took quiet possession of the citadel or fort. In 
that stronghold the Arcot merchants had for security de- 
posited effects to the value of 50,000/., which Clive punc- 
tually restored to the owners ; and this politic act . of 
honesty conciliated many of the principal inhabitants to 
the English interest. 

Clive, learning that the fugitive garrison had been rein- 
forced, and had taken post in the neighbourhood, made 
several sallies against them ; in the last he surprised them 
at night, and scattered or put them to the sword. But his 
principal business was to prepare against the siege which 
he expected, by collecting provisions and strengthening 
the works of the fort. As he had foretold, his appearance 
at Arcot effected a diversion at Trichinopoly. Chunda 
Sahib immediately detached 4,000 men from his army, who 
were joined by 2,000 natives from Vellore, by 150 Euro- 
peans from Pondicherry,^ and by the remains of the fugitive 
garrison. Altogether, the force thus directed against Arcot 
exceeded 10,000 men, and was commanded by Rajah Sahib, 
a son of Chunda Sahib. The fort in which the English 
were now besieged was, notwithstanding some hasty repairs, 
in great measure ruinous, with the parapet low and slightly 
built, with several of the towers decayed, with the ditch in 
some parts fordable, in others dry, and in some choked up 
with fallen rubbish. But Clive undauntedly maintained, 
day after day, such feeble bulwarks against such overwhelm- 
ing numbers. 

After several weeks' siege, however, the besiegers, scanty 
and ill-served as was their artillery, had succeeded in making 
^ The chief French settlement in India. 



76 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

more than one practicable breach in the walls. Some suc- 
cour to the garrison was attempted from Madras, but in vain. 
Another resource, however, remained to Clive. He found 
means to despatch a messenger through the enemy's lines 
to Morari Row, a Mahratta chieftain, who had received a 
subsidy to. assist Mahomed Ali, and who lay encamped 
with 6,000 men on the hills of Mysore. Hitherto, notwith- 
standing his subsidy, he h^ kept aloof from the contest. 
But the news how bravely Arcot was defended fixed his 
wavering mind. " I never thought till now," said he, '* that 
the English could fight. Since they can I will help them." 
And accordingly he sent down a detachment of his troops 
from the hills. 

Rajah Sahib, when he learnt that the Mahrattas were 
approaching, perceived that he had no time to lose. He 
sent a flag of truce to the garrison, promising a large sum 
of money if Clive would surrender, and denouncing instant 
death if Clive awaited a storm ; but he found his oifers and 
his threats received with equal disdain. Exasperated at the 
scornful answer, he made every preparation for a desperate 
attack on the morrow. It was the 14th of November, the 
fiftieth day of the siege, and the anniversary of the festival in 
commemoration of that martyr of early Islam, Hosein, when 
according to the creed of the Mahometans of India, any 
one who falls in battle against unbelievers is wafted at once 
into the highest region of Paradise. But, not solely tmsting 
to the enthusiasm of the day. Rajah Sahib had recourse, 
moreover, to the excitement of bang, an intoxicating drug, 
with which he plentifully supplied his soldiers. Before day- 
break they came on every side rushing furiously up to the 
assault. Besides the breaches which they expected to storm, 
they had hopes to break open the gates by urging forwards 
several elephants with plates of iron fixed to their fore- 
heads ; but the huge animals, galled by the English musketry, 



WOLFE AT QUEBEC. 77 

as of yore by the Roman javelins, soon turned, and tram- 
pled down the multitudes around them. Opposite one of 
the breaches where the water of the ditch was deepest 
another party of the enemy had launched a raft with seventy 
men upon it, and began to cross. In this emergency Clive, 
observing that his gunners fired with bad aim, took himself 
the management of one of the field-pieces with so much 
effect that in three or four discharges he had upset the raft 
and drowned the men. Throughout the day his valour and 
his skill were equally conspicuous, and every assault of his 
opponents was repulsed with heavy loss. In the first part 
of the night their fire was renewed, but at two in the morn- 
ing it ceased, and at the return of daylight it appeared that 
they had raised the s-iege, and were already out of sight, 
leaving ^400 men dead upon the ground, with all their 
ammunition and artillery. 



XV. 

WOLFE AT QUEBEC. 
BANCROFT. 

[While England was thus wresting the supremacy over India 
from the French, she was struggling with them across the 
the Atlantic for the possession of America. English 
colonies had grown up since Elizabeth's day along its 
eastern coast, and were fast becoming powerful and popu- 
lous states. But France had seized the line of the St. 
Lawrence, and pushed her settlements along the.>great 
lakes and the Mississipi to the sea. She thus threatened 
to cat off the British colonies from the great western 
plains, and to prison them to the eastern coast The 
war which broke out between France and England was 
thus a contest which settled the future of America. Its 
issue decided that Englishmen and not Frenchmen were 



78 FROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

to colonize and rule the great continent of the west. 
The struggle turned on the possession of Canada and 
its capital, Quebec. General Wolfe sailed up the St. 
Lawrence to besiege the town ; but he was long unable 
to force a landing, and the army was almost in despair 
when he won the victory of Quebec] 

Summer, which in that climate hurries through the sky, 
was over, and the British fleet must soon withdraw from the 
river. " My constitution," wrote the General ^ to Holdernesse, 
on the 9th, just four days before his death, "is entirely 
ruined, without the consolation of having done any consider- 
able service to the state, and without any prospect of it." 

But, in the meantime, Wolfe applied himself intently to 
reconnoitring the north shore above Quebec. Nature had 
given him good eyes, as well as a warmth of temper to 
follow first impressions. He himself discovered the cove 
which now bears his name, where the bending promontories 
almost form a basin, with a very narrow margin, over v/hich 
the hill rises precipitously. He saw the path that wound 
up the steep, though so narrow that two men could hardly 
march in it abreast ; and he knew, by the number of tents 
which he counted on the summit, that the Canadian post 
which guarded it could not exceed a hundred. Here he re- 
solved to land his army by surprise. To mislead the enemy, 
his troops were kept far above the town ; while Saunders, as 
if an attack was intended at Beauport, set Cook, the great 
mariner, with others, to sound the water and plant buoys 
along that shore. 

The day and night of the twelfth were employed in 
preparations. The autumn evening was bright; and the 
General, under the clear starlight, visited his stations, to 
make his final inspection and utter his last words of en- 
couragement. As he passed from ship to ship, he spoke to 
1 Wolfe. 



WOLFE AT QUEBEC. 79 

those in the boat with him of the poet Gray, and the " Elegy 
in a Country Churchyard." " I," said he, " would prefer 
being the author of that poem to the glory of beating the 
French to-morrow : " and, while the oars struck the river as 
it rippled in the silence of the night air under the flowing 
tide, he repeated : — 

*' The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
Await alike the inevitable hour. 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave." 

Every officer knew his appointed duty, when, at one 
o'clock in the morning of the 13th of September, 
Wolfe, Monckton, and Murray, and about half the forces, 
set off in boats, and, using neither sail nor oars, glided down 
with the tide. In three quarters of an hour the ships fol- 
lowed ; and, though the night had become dark, aided by 
the rapid current, they reached the cove just in time to cover 
the landing. Wolfe and the troops with him leaped on 
shore ; the light infantry, who found themselves borne by 
the current a little below the intrenched path, clambered up 
the steep hill, staying themselves by the roots and boughs of 
the maple and spruce and ash trees that covered the preci- 
pitous declivity, and, after a little firing, dispersed the picket 
which guarded the height ; the rest ascended safely by the 
pathway, A battery of four guns on the left was abandoned 
to Colonel Howe. When Townshend's division disembarked, 
the English had already gained one of the Toads' to Quebec ; 
and, advancing in front of the forest, Wolfe stood at day- 
break with his invincible battalions on the Plains of 
Abraham, the battle-field of the Celtic and Saxon - races. 

" It can be but a small party, come to burn a few houses 
and retire," said Montcalm,^ in amazement, as the news 

2 i.e. the French and English. ^ The French general. 



So PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

reached him in his intrenchments on the other side of the 
St. Charles ; but, obtaining better information, " Then," 
he cried, " they have at last got to the weak side of this 
miserable garrison ; we must give battle and crush them before 
mid-day." And, before ten, the two armies, equal in num- 
bers, each being composed of less than five thousand men, 
were ranged in presence of one another for battle. The 
English, not easily accessible from intervening shallow ra- 
vines and rail-fences, were all regulars, perfect in discipline, 
terrible in their fearless enthusiasm, thrilling with pride at 
their morning's success, commanded by a man whom they 
obeyed with confidence and love. The doomed and devoted 
Montcalm had what Wolfe had called but " five weak French 
battalions," of less than two thousand men, " mingled with 
disorderly peasantry," formed on commanding ground. The 
French had three little pieces of artillery; the English one 
or two. The two armies cannonaded each other for nearly an 
hour ; when Montcalm, having summoned De Bougainville to 
his aid, and despatched messenger after messenger for De 
Vaudreuil, who had fifteen hundred men at the camp, to 
come up before he should be driven from the ground, en- 
deavoured to flank the British and crowd them down the 
high bank of the river. Wolfe counteracted the movement 
by detaching Townsend with Amherst's regiment, and after- 
wards a part of the royal Americans, who formed on the 
left with a double front. 

Waiting no longer. for more troops, Montcalm led the 
French army impetuously to the attack. The ill-disciplined 
companies broke by their precipitation and the unevenness 
of the ground ; and fired by platoons, without unity. Their 
adversaries, especially the forty-third and the forty-seventh, 
where Monckton stood, of which three men out of four 
were Americans, received the shock with calmness ; and 
after having, at Wolfe's command, reserved their fire till their 



WOLFE AT QUEBEC. 8i 

enemy was within forty yards, their line began a regular, 
rapid, and exact discharge of musketry. Montcalm was 
present everywhere, braving danger, wounded, but cheering 
by his example. The second in command, De Sennezergues, 
an associate in glory at Ticonderoga, was killed. The brave 
but untried Canadians, flinching from a hot fire in the open 
field, began to waver ; and, so soon as Wolfe^ placing him- 
self at the head of the twenty-eighth and the Louisburg 
grenadiers, charged with bayonets, they everywhere gave 
way. Of the EngHsh officers, Carleton was wounded; 
Barre, who fought near Wolfe, received in the head a ball 
which made him blind of one eye, and ultimately of both. 
Wolfe, also, as he led the charge, was wounded in the wrist ; 
but, still pressing forward, he received a second ball ; and, 
having decided the day, was struck a third time, and mor- 
tally, in the breast. " Support me," he cried to an officer 
near him ; ''let not my brave fellows see me drop." He 
was carried to the rear, and they brought him water to 
quench his thirst. '* They run ! they run ! " spoke the officer 
on whom he leaned. " Who run ? " asked Wolfe, as his life 
was fast ebbing. " The French," replied the officer, " give 
way everywhere." "What," cried the expiring hero, ''do 
they run already ? Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton ; 
bid him march Webb's regiment with all speed to Charles 
River to cut off the fugitives." Four days before, he had 
looked forward to early death with dismay. " Now, God be 
praised, I die happy." These were his words as his spirit 
escaped in the blaze of his glory. Night, silence, the rush- 
ing tide, veteran discipline, the sure inspiration of genius, 
had been his allies ; his battle-field, high over the ocean 
river, was the grandest theatre for illustrious deeds; his 
victory, one of the most momentous in the annals of man- 
kind, gave to the English tongue and the institutions of the 
Germanic race the unexplored and seemingly infinite west 



82 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

and north. He crowded into a few hours actions that 
would have given lustre to length of life ; and, filling his day 
with greatness, completed it before its noon. 



XVI. 
BUNKER'S HILL. 

BANCROFT. 

[The victory was followed by a peace, in which P'rance 
withdrew from every part of America save the mouth of 
the Mississippi, and the great continent was left to the 
possession of Englishmen. But the triumph was soon 
followed by a terrible struggle. The English colonies 
felt that the time was come when they could govern 
themselves; while England unwisely resolved to hold 
them under her rule. War broke out ; and the British 
soldiers at first made light of the untrained volunteers 
from the colonies. But the Americans soon showed that' 
they too were of English blood and English courage ; 
and, advancing to besiege Boston, they encountered a 
sally of the British army from that town on the heights of 
Bunker's Hill. They succeeded in repulsing it ; and from 
that m.oment it became impossible to conquer America.] 

Of the two columns which were put in motion,^ the one 
was led by Pigot against the redoubt ; the other by Howe 
himself^ against the flank, which seemed protected by 
nothing but a fence of rails and hay easy to be scrambled 
over, when the left of Prescott ^ would be turned, and he 
would be forced to surrender on finding the enemy in his 



^ The British columns, who were attacking the entrench- 
ments of the colonists on Bunker's Hill. ^ General Howe 
commanded the British forces. ^ The commander of the 
America7is on Bunker's Hill. 



BUNKER'S HILL. 83 

As they began to march, the dazzling lustre of a 
summer's sun was reflected from their burnished armour ; 
the battery on Copp's Hill, from which Clinton and Bur- 
goyne * were watching every movement, kept up an incessant 
fire, which was seconded by the Falcon and the Lively, 
the Somerset, and the two floating batteries ; the town of 
Charlestown, consisting of five hundred edifices of wood, 
burst into a blaze; and the steeple of its only church 
became a pyramid of fire. All the while the masts of the 
shipping, and the heights of the British camp, the church 
towers, the house-tops of a populous town,^ and the acclivi- 
ties of the surrounding country were crowded with spectators, 
to watch the battle which was to take place, in full sight on 
a conspicuous eminence ; and which, as the English thought, 
was to assure the integrity of the British empire ; as the 
Americans believed, was to influence the freedom and 
happiness of mankind. 

As soon as Prescott perceived that the enemy were in 
motion, he commanded Robinson, his Lieutenant-Colonel, 
the same who conducted himself so bravely in the fight at 
Concord, and Henry Woods, his Major, famed in the villages 
of Middlesex for ability and patriotism, with separate de- 
tachments to flank the enemy; and they executed his 
orders with prudence and daring. He then went through 
the works to encourage and animate his inexperienced 
soldiers. "The red-coats will never reach the redoubt," 
such were his words, as he himself used to narrate them, 
" if you will but withhold your fire till I give the order, and 
be careful not to shoot over their heads." After this round, 
he took his post in the redoubt, well satisfied that the men 
would do their duty. 

The British advanced in line in good order, steadily and 
slowly, and with a confident, imposing air, pausmg on the 
* Two English Generals. ^ Boston. 



84 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

march to let their artillery prepare the way, and firing with 
muskets as they advanced. But they fired too soon- and 
too high, doing but little injury. 

Incumbered with their knapsacks, they ascended the 
steep hill with difficulty, covered as it was with grass reach- 
ing to their knees, and intersected with walls and fences. 
Prescott waited till the enemy had approached within eight 
rods as he afterwards thought, within ten or twelve rods as 
the committee of safety of Massachusetts wrote, when he 
gave the word " Fire ! " At once, from the redoubt and 
breastwork, every gun was discharged. Nearly the whole 
front rank of the enemy fell, and the rest, to whom this 
determined resistance was unexpected, were brought to a 
stand. For a few minutes, fifteen or ten, — who can count 
such minutes ! — each one of the Americans, completely 
covered whilst he loaded his musket, exposed only 
while he stood upon the wooden platform or steps of 
earth in the redoubt to take aim, fought according to 
his own judgm.ent and will ; and a close and unremitting 
fire was continued and returned, till the British staggered, 
wavered, and then in disordered masses retreated pre- 
cipitately to the foot of the hill, and some even to 
their boats. 

The column of the enemy, which advanced near the 
Mystic under the lead of Howe, moved gallantly forward 
against the rail-fence, and, when within eighty or one 
hundred yards, displayed into line with the precision of 
troops on parade. Here, too, the Americans, commanded 
by Stark and Knowlton, cheered on by Putnam, who like 
Prescott bade them reserve their fire, restrained themselves 
as if by universal consent, till at the proper moment, resting 
their guns on the rails of the fence, they poured forth a 
deliberate, well-directed, fatal discharge ; here, too, the 
British recoiled from the volley, and after a short contest 



BUNKER'S HILL, 85 

were thrown into confusion, sounded a retreat, and fell back 
till they were covered by the ground. 

Then followed moments of joy in that unfinished re- 
doubt, and behind the grassy rampart, where New England 
husbandmen, so often taunted with cowardice, beheld 
veteran battalions shrink before their arms. Their hearts 
bounded as they congratulated each other. The night- 
watches, thirst, hunger, danger, whether of captivity or death, 
were forgotten. They promised themselves victory. 

As the British soldiers retreated, the officers were seen by 
the spectators on the opposite shore, running down to them, 
using passionate gestures, and pushing them forward with 
their swords. After an interval of about fifteen minutes, 
during which Prescott moved round among his men, en- 
couraging them and cheering them with praise, the British 
column under Pigot rallied and advanced, though with 
apparent reluctance, in the same order as before, firing as 
they approached within musket-shot This time the Ameri- 
cans withheld their fire till the enemy were within six or 
five rods of the redoubt, when, as the order was given, it 
seemed more fatal than before. The enemy continued to 
discharge their guns, and pressed forward with spirit. 
" But from the whole American line there was," said Pres- 
cott, "a continuous stream of fire;" and though the British 
officers exposed themselves fearlessly, remonstrating, threat- 
ening, and even striking the soldiers to urge them on, they 
could not reach the redoubt, but in a few moments gave 
way in greater disorder than before. The wounded and 
the dead covered the ground in front of the works, some 
lying within a few yards of them. 

On the flank also, the British light infantry again marched 
up its companies against the grass fence, but could not 
penetrate it. " Indeed," wrote some of the survivors, " how 
could we penetrate it ? Most of our grenadiers and light 



86 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

infantry, the moment of presenting themselves, lost three- 
fourths, and many nine-tenths of their men. Some had 
only eight or nine men in a company left, some only three, 
four, or five." On the ground where but the day before 
the mowers had swung the scythe in peace, " the dead," 
relates Stark, " lay as thick as sheep in a fold." Howe for 
a few seconds was left nearly alone, so many of the officers 
about him having been killed or wounded ; and it required 
the utmost exertion of all, from the generals down to the 
subalterns, to repair the rout. Rails which the British had 
clambered over were found the next day studded with 
marks of musket-balls not a hand's-breadth apart ; and 
officers, who had served in the most remarkable actions of 
the last war, declared that for the time it lasted it was the 
hottest .engagement they ever knew. 

At intervals, the artillery from the ships and batteries 
was playing, while the flames were rising over the town of 
Charlestown, and laying waste the places of the graves of 
its fathers, and streets were falHng together, and ships at 
the yards were crashing on the stocks, and the kindred of 
the Americans, from the fields and hills and house-tops 
around, watched every gallant act of their defenders. 



XVII 
WATT. 

SMILES. 

The colonies at last succeeded in forcing England to re- 
cognise their independence, and became the United 
States of America. Terrible as the struggle had been, 
England had been growing richer and greater during its 
course, through the vast developement of her industries. 
This was owing partly to the improvement of her roads 



WATT. 87 

and the introduction of canals, but mainly to the discovery 
of the steam-engine by Watt. Watt was a mechanician 
of Glasgow, whose inventive faculty turned itself to im- 
prove the rude machines in which steam had till now been 
used as a motive power. He was long foiled in his 
efforts.] 

Watt continued to pursue his studies as before. Though 
still occupied with his inquiries and experiments as to steam, 
he did not neglect his proper business, but was constantly 
on the look-out for improvements in instrument-making. A 
machine which he invented for drawing in perspective 
proved a success ; and he made a considerable number of 
them to order, for customers in London as well as abroad. 
He was also an indefatigable reader, and continued to 
extend his knowledge of chemistry and mechanics by 
perusal of the best books on these sciences. 

Above all other subjects, however, the improvement of 
the steam-engine continued to keep the fastest hold upon 
his mind. He still brooded over his experiments with the 
Newcomen model,^ but did not seem to make much way in 
introducing any practical improvement in its mode of work- 
ing. His friend Robison says he struggled long to con- 
dense with sufficient rapidity without injection, trying one 
expedient after another, finding out what would do by what 
would not do, and exhibiting many beautiful specimens of 
ingenuity and fertility of resource. He continued, to use 
his bwn words, " to grope in the dark, misled by many an 
*tgjus fatims.''' It was a favourite saying of his, that " Nature 
has a weak side, if we can only find it out ; " and he went 
on groping and feeling for it, but as yet in vain. At 
length light burst upon him, and all at once the problem 
over which he had been brooding was solved. 

1 A machine constructed by Netucomeii was as yet the most 
successful in using the 'power of steam. 



88 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

One Sunday afternoon, in the spring of 1765, he went 
to take an afternoon walk on the Green, then a quiet, 
grassy meadow, used as a bleaching and grazing ground. 
On week-days the Glasgow lasses came thither with their 
largest kail-pots, to boil their clothes in ; and sturdy queans 
might be seen, with coats kilted, tramping blankets in their 
tubs. On Sundays the place was comparatively deserted, 
and hence Watt went thither to take a quiet afternoon's 
stroll. His thoughts were as usual running on the subject 
of his unsatisfactory experiments with the Newcomen 
engine, when the first idea of the separate cojidenser suddenly 
flashed upon his mind. But the notable discovery is best 
told in his own words, as related to Mr. Robert Hart, many 
years after : — 

** I had gone to take a walk on a fine Sabbath afternoon. 
I had entered the Green by the gate at the foot of Char- 
lotte Street, and had passed the old washing-house. I was 
thinking upon the engine at the time, and had gone as far 
as the herd's house, when the idea came into my mind 
that as steam was an elastic body it would rush into a 
vacuum, and if a communication were made between the 
cylinder and an exhausted vessel,^ it would rush into it, 
and might be there condensed without cooling the cylin- 
der.2 I then saw that I must get rid of the condensed 
steam and injection-water if I used a jet, as in Newcomen's 
engine. Two ways of doing this occurred to me. First, the 
"water might be run off by a descending pipe, if an off-let 
could be got at the depth of 35 or 36 feet, and any air 
might be extracted by a small pump. The second was to 

'-^ A vessel fro7n which the air it contained had been exhausted. 

3 The chief diffiadty in the way of using steam had ariseti 
from the practice of condensing it by ajt injection of cold water 
into the cyli7ider when it had forced the pisto7i upwards. This 
cooled the cylinder, and consequently a greater amount of steam 
was needed to force the pistoji up again. 



WATT, 89 

make the pump large enough to extract both water and air." 
He continued : " I had not walked further than the Golf 
House when the whole thing was arranged in my mind." 

Great and prolific ideas are almost always simple. What 
seems impossible at the outset appears so obvious when it 
is effected that we are prone to marvel that it did not force 
itself at once upon the mind. Late in life Watt, with his 
accustomed modesty, declared his belief that if he had 
excelled, it had been by chance and the neglect of others. 
To Professor Jardine he said " that when it was analysed 
the invention would not appear so great as it seemed to be. 
In the state," said he, " in which I found the steam-engine, 
it was no great effort of mind to observe that the quantity 
of fuel necessary to make it work would for ever prevent its 
extensive utility. The next step in my progress was equally 
easy — to inquire what was the cause of the great consump- 
tion of fuel : this, too, was readily suggested, viz., the waste 
of fuel which was necessary to bring the whole cyHnder, 
piston, and adjacent parts from the coldness of water to the 
heat of steam, no fewer than from fifteen to twenty times in 
a minute." The question then occurred. How was this to 
be avoided or remedied ? It was at this stage that the idea 
of carrying on the condensation in a separate vessel flashed 
upon his mind and solved the difficulty. 

Mankind has been more just to Watt than he was to 
himself. There was no accident in the discovery. It was 
the result of close and continuous study ; and the idea of 
the separate condenser was merely the last step of a long 
journey — a step which could not have been taken unless 
the road which led to it had been carefully and thought- 
fully traversed. Dr. Black says, " This capital improvement 
flashed upon his mind at once, and filled him with rapture;" 
a statement which, spite of the unimpassioned nature of 
Watt, we can readily believe. 



90 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

But, although the invention was complete in Watt's mind, 
it took him many long and laborious years to work out the 
details of the engine. His friend Robison, with whom his 
intimacy was maintained during these interesting experi- 
ments, has given a graphic account of the difficulties which 
he successively encountered and overcame. He relates 
that on his return from the country, after the College 
vacation in 1765, he went to have a chat with Watt, and 
communicate to him some observations he had made on 
Desaguliers' and Belidor's account of the steam-engine. He 
went straight into the parlour without ceremony, and found 
Watt sitting before the fire, looking at a little tin cistern 
which he had on his knee. Robison immediately started 
the conversation about steam, his mind, like Watt's, being 
occupied with the means of avoiding the excessive waste of 
heat in the Newcomen engine. Watt, all the while, kept 
looking into the fire, and after a time laid down the cistern 
at the foot of his chair, saying nothing. It seems that Watt 
felt rather nettled at Robison having communicated to a 
mechanic of the town a contrivance which he had hit upon 
for turning the cocks of his engine. . When Robison there- 
fore pressed his inquiry. Watt at length looked at him and 
said briskly, " You need not fash^ yourself any more about 
that, man ; I have now made an engine that shall not waste 
a particle of steam. It shall all be boiling hot, — ay, and 
hot water injected, if I please." He then pushed the little 
tin cistern with his foot under the table. 

Robison could learn no more of the new contrivance 
from Watt at that time ; but on the same evening he acci- 
dentally met a mutual acquaintance, who, supposing he 
knew as usual the progress of Watt's experiments, observed 
to him, "Well, have you seen Jamie Watt?" — ''Yes." — 
" He'll be in fine spirits now with his engine ? " — " Yes," 
** Troiible. 



BATTLE OF THE NILE. 91 

said Robison, ''very fine spirits." — "Gad ! " said the other, 
" the separate condenser's the very thing : keep it but cold 
enough, and you may have a perfect vacuum, whatever be 
the heat of the cylinder." This was Watt's secret, and the 
nature of the contrivance was clear to Robison at once. 



XVIII. 

BATTLE OF THE NILE. 

SOUTHEY. 

[After a few years the peaceful progress of England was 
disturbed by a fresh war with France. France had risen 
against the tyranny which had long oppressed her ; and 
her first efforts to obtain freedom were warmly greeted by 
nearly all Englishmen. Unfortunately the Continental 
sovereigns, in dread of this revolution, resolved to put it 
down by force of arms ; and their invasion drove France 
to a frenzy of alarm. Terrible crimes were committed, 
and the King, Louis the Sixteenth, was put to death. The 
invaders however were driven back ; and in the pride of 
its success the French Republic determined to carry its 
freedom over the world by dint of the sword. England was 
already estranged by the crimes and bloodshed of the 
Revolution ; she was now alarmed by the spread of Re- 
publican principles at home, and yet more by the sudden 
greatness which France acquired abroad ; and she was 
determined to maintain against the RepubHc, as against 
the Bourbons in older days, the balance of power. On 
the French invading Holland, therefore, England declared 
war. The war lasted more than twenty years ; but it 
changed its character more than once. At first it was a 
war against the Revolution. On land the English were 
unsuccessful : but their defeats were redeemed by great 
victories at sea. Of these the greatest was the Battle of 
the Nile. The young French general. Napoleon Buona- 
parte, after a course of marvellous victories, resolved to 
revolutionize the East, and to wrest India from England. 
18 



92 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

As a first step to this, he sailed under escort from a French 
fleet to Alexandria, and conquered Egypt. But Nelson, 
the first of British seamen, followed him, and finding the 
French ships ranged in line in Aboukir Bay, resolved on 
an attack.] 

The moment Nelson perceived the position of the 
French, that intuitive genius with which he was endowed 
displayed itself; and it instantly struck him, that where 
there was room for an enemy's ship to swing,^ there was 
room for one of ours to anchor. The plan which he 
intended to pursue, therefore, was to keep entirely on the 
outer side of the French line, and station his ships, as far 
as he was able, one on the outer bow, and another on the 
outer quarter, of each of the enemy's. Captain Berry, 
when he comprehended the scope of the design, exclaimed 
with transport, " If we succeed, what will the world say ! " 
" There is no if in the case," repUed the Admiral : " that 
we shall succeed, is certain : who may live to tell the story 
is a very different question." 

As the squadron advanced, they were assailed by a shower 
of shot and shells from the batteries on the island, and the 
enemy opened a steady fire from the starboard side of their 
whole line, within half gun-shot distance, full into the bows 
of our van ships. It was received in silence : the men on 
board every ship were employed aloft in furling sails, and 
below in tending the braces, and making ready for anchor- 
ing. Captain Foley led the way in the Goliath, out-sailing the 
Zealous, which for some minutes disputed this post of honour 
with him. He had long conceived that if the enemy were 
moored in line of battle in with the land the best plan of 
attack would be to lead between them and the shore, 
because the French guns on that side were not likely to be 
manned, nor even ready for action. Intending, therefore, 
1 Ride freely at a?icho7\ 



BATTLE OF THE NILE. 93 

to fix himself on the inner bow of the Giierrier, he kept as 
near the edge of the bank as the depth of water would 
admit ; but his anchor hung, and having opened his fire, he 
drifted to the second ship, the Conqueraiit, before it was 
clear ; then anchored by the stern, inside of her, and in ten 
minutes shot away her mast. Hood, in the Zealous, 
perceiving this, took the station which the Goliath intended 
to have occupied, and totally disabled the Guerrier in 
twelve minutes. The third ship which doubled the enemy's 
van was the Orion, Sir J. Saum^arez \ she passed to windward 
of the Zealous, and opened her larboard guns as long as 
they bore on the Guerrier ; then passing inside the Goliath, 
sunk a frigate which annoyed her, hauled round towards the 
French line, and anchoring inside, between the fifth and 
sixth ships from the Guerrier, took her station on the lar- 
board bow of the Franklin, and the quarter of the Peu;ple 
Souverain, receiving and returning the fire of both. The 
sun was now nearly down. The Audacious, Captain Gould, 
pouring a heavy fire into the Guerrier and Conquerant, 
fixed herself on the larboard bow of the latter ; and when 
that ship struck, passed on to the Peuple Souverain. The 
Theseus, Captain Miller, followed, brought down the 
Guerrier s remaining main- and mizen-masts, then anchored 
inside of the Spartiate, the thii;d in the French line. 

While these advanced ships doubled the French line, the 
Vanguard was the first that anchored on the outer side of 
the enemy, within half pistol-shot of their third ship, the 
Spartiate. Nelson had six colours flying in different parts 
of his rigging, lest they should be shot away — that they 
should be struck, no British admiral considers as a possi- 
bility. He veered half a cable, and instantly opened a 
tremendous fire, under cover of which the other four ships 
of his division, the Minotaur, Belleropho7i, Defence, and 
Majestic, sailed on ahead of the Admiral. In a few minutes 



94 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

every man stationed at the first six guns in the forepart of 
the Vanguard's deck was killed or wounded — these guns 
were three times cleared. Captain Louis, in the Miiiotatcr^ 
anchored next ahead, and took off the fire of the Aqiiilon, 
the fourth in the enemy's line. The Bellerophoii^ Captain 
Darby, passed ahead, and dropt her stern anchor on the 
starboard bow of the Orietit^ seventh in the line, Brueys' ^ 
own ship, of one hundred and twenty guns, whose difference 
of force was in proportion of more than seven to three, 
and whose weight of ball, from the lower deck alone, 
exceeded that from the whole broadside of the Belleropho7i. 
Captain Peyton, in the Defence, took his station ahead of 
the Mi?iotaur, and engaged the Franklin^ the sixth in the 
line ; by which judicious movement the British line 
remained unbroken. The Majestic, Captain Westcott, got 
entangled with the main rigging of one of the French ships 
astern of the One?it, and suffered dreadfully from that three- 
decker's fire : but she swung clear, and closely engaging the 
Heureiix, the ninth ship on the starboard bow, received also 
the fire of the Tonnafif, which was the eighth in the line. 
The other four ships of the British squadron, having been 
detached previous to the discovery of the French, were at a 
considerable distance when the action began. It com- 
menced at half after six \ about seven, night closed, and 
there was no other light than that from the fire of the 
contending fleets. 

Trowbridge, in the CuHoden, then foremost of the 
remaining ships, was two leagues astern. He came on 
sounding, as the others had done : as he advanced, the 
increasing darkness increased the difficulty of the naviga- 
tion ; and suddenly, after having found eleven fathoms of 
water, before the lead could be hove again he was fast 
aground ; nor could all his own exertions, joined to those 
2 Brueys was admiral of the French fleet. 



BATTLE OF THE NILE. 95 

of the Leander and Miitine brig, which came to his assist- 
ance, get him off in time to bear a part in the action. His 
ship, however, served as a beacon to the Alexander and 
Swiftsure^ which would else, from the course which they 
were holding, have gone considerably farther on the reef, 
and must inevitably have been lost; these ships entered 
the bay, and took their stations in the darkness, in a 
manner still spoken of with admiration by all who remem- 
bered it. Captain Hallowell, in the Swiftsure, as he was 
bearing down, fell in with what seemed to be a strange sail. 
Nelson had directed his ships to hoist four lights horizon- 
tally at the mizen-peak as soon as it became dark ; and this 
vessel had no such distinction. Hallowell, however, with 
great judgment, ordered his men not to fire : if she was an 
enemy, he said, she was in too disabled a state to escape ; 
but, from her sails being loose, and the way in which her 
head was, it was probable she might be an English ship. It 
was the Bellerophon overpowered by the huge Orient : her 
lights had gone overboard, nearly two hundred of her crew 
were killed or wounded, all her masts and cables had 
been shot away ; and she was drifting out of the line, 
towards the lee side of the bay, Her station at this 
important time was occupied by the Stviftsure^ which 
opened a steady fire on the quarter of the Franklin and the 
bows of the French Admiral. At the same instant, Captain 
Ball, with the Alexander, passed under his stern, and 
anchored within side on his larboard quarter, raking him, 
and keeping up a severe fire of musketry upon his decks. 
The last ship which arrived to complete the destruction of 
the enemy was the Leajider. Captain Thompson, finding 
that nothing could be done that night to get off the Cid- 
loden, advanced with the intention of anchoring athwart- 
hawse of the Orient. The Franklin was so near her ahead 
that there was not room for him to pass clear of the two ; he 



96 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

therefore took his station athwart-hawse of the latter, in 
such a position as to rake both. 

The two first ships of the French Hne had been dismasted 
within a quaiter of an hour after the commencement of the 
action ; and the others had in that time suffered so severely 
that victory was certain. The third, fourth, and fifth were 
taken possession of at half-past eight. Meantime Nelson 
received a severe wound on the head from a piece of 
langridge shot Captain Berry caught him in his arms as he 
was falling. The great effusion of blood occasioned an 
apprehension that the wound was mortal : Nelson himself 
thought so. A' large flap of the skin of the forehead, cut 
from the bone, had fallen over one eye ; and the other being 
blind, he was in total darkness. When he was carried down, 
the surgeon — in the midst of a scene scarcely to be con- 
ceived by those who have never seen a cockpit in time of 
action, and the heroism which is displayed amid its horrors 
— with a natural and pardonable eagerness, quitted the poor 
fellow then under his hands that he might instantly attend 
the Admiral. " No ! " said Nelson, " I will take my turn 
with my brave fellows." Nor would he sufter his own 
wound to be examined till every man who had been pre- 
viously wounded was pfoperly attended to. Fully believing 
that the wound was mortal, and that he was about to die, 
as -he had ever desired, in battle and in victory, he called 
the chaplain, and desired him to deliver what he supposed 
to be his dying remembrance to Lady Nelson. He then 
sent for Captain Louis on board from the Minotaur, that he 
might thank him personally for the great assistance which 
he had rendered to the Vanguard ; and ever mindful of 
those who deserved to be his friends, appointed Captain 
Hardy from the brig to the command of his own ship, 
Captain Berry having to go home with the news of the 
victory. When the surgeon came in due time to examine 



BATTLE OF THE NILE. 97 

his wound (for it was in vain to entreat him to let it be 
examined sooner), the most anxious silence prevailed ; and 
the joy of the wounded men and of the whole crew, when 
they heard that the hurt was merely superficial, gave Nelson 
deeper pleasure than the unexpected assurance that his life 
was in no danger. The surgeon requested, and as far as he 
could, ordered him, to remain quiet ; but Nelson could not 
rest. He called for his secretary, Mr. Campbell, to write 
the despatches. Campbell had himself been wounded; 
and was so affected at the blind and suffering state of the 
Admiral that he was unable to write. The chaplain was 
then sent for ; but before he came, Nelson, with his charac- 
teristic eagerness, took the pen, and contrived to trace a 
few words, marking his devout sense of the success which 
had already been obtained. He was now left alone; 
when suddenly a cry was heard on the deck that the Orient 
was on fire. In the confusion he found his way up, un- 
assisted and unnoticed ; and, to the astonishment of every 
one, appeared on the quarter-deck, where he immediately 
gave orders that boats should be sent to the relief of the 
enemy. 

It was soon after nine that the fire on board the Orient 
broke out. Brueys was dead : he had received three 
wounds, yet would not leave his post : a fourth cut him 
almost in two. He desired not to be carried below, but 
to be left to die upon deck. The flames soon mastered his 
ship. Her sides had just been painted ; and the oil-jars 
and paint-buckets were lying on the poop. By the pro- 
digious light of this conflagration the situation of the two 
fleets could now be perceived, the colours of both being 
clearly distinguishable. About ten o'clock the ship blew 
up, with a shock which was felt to the very bottom of every 
vessel. Many of her officers and men jumped overboard, 
some clinging to the spars and pieces of wreck with which 



98 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

the sea was strewn, others swimming to escape from the 
destruction which they momently dreaded. Some were 
picked up by our boats ; and some even in the heat and 
fury of the action were dragged into the lower ports of the 
nearest British ships by the British sailors. The greater part 
of her crew, however, stood the danger till the last, and con- 
tinued to fire from the lower deck. This tremendous explo- 
sion v/as followed by a silence not less awful : the firing 
immediately ceased on both sides ; and the first sound 
which broke the silence was the dash of her shattered masts 
and yards falling into the water from the vast height to 
which they had been exploded. It is upon record that a 
battle between two armies was once broken off by an earth- 
quake — such an event would be felt like a miracle; but 
no incident in war, produced by human means, has ever 
equalled the sublimity of this co-instantaneous pause and 
all its circumstances. 

About seventy of the Orie?ifs crew were saved by the 
English boats. Among the many hundreds who perished 
were the conimodore, Casa-Bianca, and his son, a brave 
boy, only ten years old. They were seen floating on a 
shattered mast when the ship blew up. She had money on 
board (the plunder of Malta) to the amount of 600,000/. 
sterling. The masses of burning wreck, which were scat- 
tered by the explosion, excited for some moments apprehen- 
sions in the English which they had never felt from any 
other danger. Two large pieces fell into the main and 
foretops of the Swiftsiire without injuring any person. A 
port-fire also fell into the main-royal of the Alexander : the 
fire which it occasioned was speedily extinguished. Captain 
Ball had provided, as far as human foresight could provide, 
against any such danger. All the shrouds and sails of his 
ship, not absolutely necessary for its immediate manage- 
ment, were thoroughly wetted, and so rolled up that they 



^BATTLE OF THE NILE. 99 

were as hard and as little inflammable as so many solid 
cylinders. 

The fire recommenced with the ships to leeward of the 
centre ; and continued till about three. At daybreak the 
Gidllaiime Tell and the Genereux, the two rear-ships of the 
enemy, were the only French ships of the line which had 
their colours flying ; they cut their cables in the forenoon, 
not having been engaged, and stood out to sea, and two 
frigates with them. The Zealous pursued ; but as there was 
no other ship in a condition to support Captain Hood, he 
was recalled. It was generally believed by the officers, that 
if Nelson had not been wounded, not one of these ships 
could have escaped — the four certainly could not if the 
Culloden had got into action — and if the frigates belonging 
to the squadron had been present, not one of the enemy's 
fleet would have left Aboukir "Bay. These four vessels, 
however, were all that escaped ; and the victor}' was the 
most complete and glorious in the annals of naval history. 
'' Victory," said Nelson, " is not a name strong enough for 
such a scene ; " he called it a conquest. Of thirteen sail of 
the line nine were taken and two burnt ; of the four frigates 
one was sunk, another, the Arfemise, was burnt in a villainous 
manner by her captain, M. Estandlet, who, having fired a 
broadside at the T/ieseiis, struck his colours, then set fire to 
the ship, and escaped, with most of his crew, to shore. The 
British loss, in killed and wounded, amounted to eight 
hundred and ninety-five. Westcott was the only captain 
who fell. Three thousand one hundred and five of the 
French, including the wounded, were sent on shore by 
cartel, and five thousand two hundred and twenty-five 
perished. 

18* 



TOO PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

XIX. 

DEATH OF NELSON. 

SOUTHEY. 

[Nelson's victory foiled Buonaparte's designs, while it en- 
couraged Europe to rise against the French Republic. 
But Buonaparte returned to France, and by fresh victories 
restored its supremacy. He had no sooner done this, 
however, than he overthrew the Republic and set up a 
despotism in its stead with himself as Emperor at its 
head. He resolved to make himself master of all Europe ; 
and to begin the work by the invasion and conquest of 
England. For this purpose he gathered a great army at 
Boulogne, and called all his fleet to the Channel to 
cover its crossing. Nelson, however, met the French 
ships in Trafalgar Bay, and in a wonderful victory almost 
wholly destroyed them. In the moment of triumph 
the great seaman was shot by a marksman in the French 
ship he was attacking.] 

The enemy continued to fire a gun at a time at the 
Victory} till they saw that a shot had passed through her 
main-topgallant sail : then they opened their broadsides, 
aiming chiefly at her rigging in the hope of disabling her 
before she could close with them. Nelson, as usual, had 
hoisted several flags, lest one of them should be shot away. 
The enemy showed no colours till late in the action, when 
they began to feel the necessity of having them to strike 
For this reason, the Saiitissima Trzjndad, Nelson's old 
acquaintance, as he used to call her, was distinguishable 
only by her four decks ; and to the bow of this opponent he 
ordered the Victory to be steered. Meantime an incessant 
raking fire was kept up upon the Victory. The Admirafs 
' Nelson^ s flagship. 



DEATH OF NELSON. loi 

secretary was one of the first who fell ; he was killed by a 
cannon shot while conversing with Hardy. Captain Adair, 
of the marines, with the help of a sailor, endeavoured to 
remove the body from Nelson's sight, who had a great 
regard for Mr. Scott ; but he anxiously asked, " Is that poor 
Scott that's gone ? " and being informed that it was indeed 
so, exclaimed, '' Poor fellow ! " Presently a double-headed 
shot struck a party of marines who were drawn up on the 
poop, and killed eight of them : upon which Nelson imme- 
diately desired Captain Adair to disperse his men round the 
ship, that they might not suffer so much from being 
together. A few minutes afterwards a shot struck the 
fore-brace-bits on the quarter-deck and passed between 
Nelson and Hardy, a splinter from the bit tearing off 
Hardy's buckle and bruising his foot. Both stopped and 
looked anxiously at each other, each supposed the other 
to be wounded. Nelson then smiled and said, " This is too 
warm work. Hardy, to last long." 

The Victory had not yet returned a single gun : fifty of 
her men had been by this time killed or wounded, and her 
main-topmast, with all her studding-sails and her booms, 
shot away. Nelson declared that in all his battles he had 
seen nothing which surpassed the cool courage of his crew 
upon this occasion. At four minutes after twelve she 
opened her fire from both sides of her deck. It was not 
possible to break the enemy's line without running on board 
one of their ships; Hardy ^ informed him of this, and 
asked him which he would prefer. Nelson replied, ''Take 
your choice, Hardy, it does not signify much." The master 
was ordered to put the helm to port, and the Victory ran on 
board the Redoubtable^ just as her tiller ropes were shot 
away. The French ship received her with a broadside : then 
instantly let down her lower deck ports, for fear of being 
'^ Captaijt of the " Victory'' 



I02 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

boarded through them, and never afterwards fired a great 
gun during the action. Her tops, like those of all the 
enemy's ships, were filled with riflemen. Nelson never 
placed musketry in his tops ; he had a strong dislike to the 
practice ; not merely because it endangers setting fire to the 
sails, but also because it is a murderous sort of warfare, by 
which individuals may suffer, and a commander now and 
then be picked off, but which never can decide the fate of 
a general engagement. 

Captain Harvey, in the Temeraire, fell on board the 
Redoubtable on the other side. Another enemy was in like 
manner on board the Th?ieratre : so that these four ships 
formed as compact a tier as if they had been moored to- 
gether, their heads lying all the same way. The lieutenants 
of the Victory seeing this, depressed their guns of the middle 
and lower decks, and fired with a diminished charge, lest 
the shot should pass through and injure the T^hnerah-e. And 
because there was danger that the Redoubtable might take 
fire from the lower deck guns, the muzzles of which touched 
her side when they were run out, the fireman of each gun 
stood ready with a bucket of water ; which, as soon as the 
gun was discharged, he dashed into the hole made by the 
shot. An incessant fire was kept up from the Victory from 
both sides ; her larboard guns playing upon the Buce?itaure 
and the huge Santissima Trinidad. 

It had been part of Nelson's prayer that the British fleet 
might be distinguished by humanity in the victory which he 
expected. Setting an example himself, he twice gave orders 
to cease firing upon the Redoubtable, supposing that she had 
struck, because her great guns were silent; for, as she 
carried no flag, there was no means of instantly ascertaining 
the fact. From this ship which he had thus twice spared, he 
received his death. A ball fired from her mizentop, which, 
in the then situation of the two vessels, was not more than 



DEATH OF NELSON. 103 

fifteen yards from that part of the deck from where he was 
standing, struck the epaulette on his left shoulder, about 
a quarter after one, just in the heat of action. He fell 
upon his face on the spot which was covered with his poor 
secretary's blood. Hardy, who was a few steps from him, 
turning round, saw three men raising him up. " They have 
done for me at last, Hardy," said he. — " I hope not," cried 
Hardy. — " Yes ! " he replied ; " my back-bone is shot 
through." Yet even now, not for a moment losing his 
presence of mind, he observed, as they were carrying him 
down the ladder, that the tiller-ropes which had been shot 
away were not yet replaced, and ordered that new ones 
should be rove immediately — then, that he might not be 
seen by the crew, he took out his handkerchief, and covered 
his face and his stars. — Had he but concealed these badges 
of honour from the enemy, England, perhaps, would not 
have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of the 
Battle of Trafalgar. 

The cockpit was crowded with wounded and dying men, 
over whose bodies he was with some difficulty conveyed, 
and laid upon a pallet in the midshipmen's berth. It was 
soon perceived, upon examination, that the wound was 
mortal. This, however, was concealed from all except 
Captain Hardy, the chaplain, and the medical attendants. 
He himself being certain, from the sensation in his back, 
and the gush of blood he felt momently within his breast, 
that no human care could avail him, insisted that the surgeon 
should leave him, and attend to those to whom he might 
be useful; " For," said he, ''you can do nothing for me." 
All that could be done was to fan him with paper, and 
frequently to give him lemonade to alleviate his intense 
thirst. He was in great pain, and expressed much anxiety 
for the event of the action, which now began to declare 
itself. As often as a ship struck, the crew of the Victory 



I04 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

hurraed ; and at every hurra, a visible expression of joy 
gleamed in the eyes and marked the countenance of the 
dying hero. But he became impatient to see Captain 
Hardy ; and as that officer, though often sent for, could not 
leave the deck, Nelson feared that some fatal cause prevented 
him, and repeatedly cried: "Will no one bring Hardy to 
me ? He must be killed ! He is surely dead ! " An hour and 
ten minutes elapsed from the time when Nelson received his 
wound, before Hardy could come to him. They shook hands 
in silence ; Hardy in vain struggling to suppress the feelings 
of that most painful and yet sublimest moment. ''Well, 
Hardy," said Nelson, " how goes the day with us ? " — " Very 
weiy replied Hardy ; " ten ships have struck, but five of the 
van have tacked, and show an intention to bear down upon 
the Victory. I have called two or three of our fresh ships 
round, and have no doubt of giving them a drubbing." — 
" I hope," said Nelson, " none of our ships have struck ? " 
Hardy answered, " There was no fear of that." Then, and 
not till then, Nelson spoke of himself. " I am a dead man, 
Hardy," said he : " I am going fast — it will be all over with 
me soon. Come nearer to me. Let my dear Lady Hamilton 
have my hair, and all other things belonging to me." Hardy 
observed that he hoped Mr. Beatty could yet hold out some 
prospect of life. " Oh, no ! " he replied : " it is impossible. 
My back is shot through. Beatty will tell you so." Captain 
Hardy then once more shook hands with him ; and with a 
heart almost bursting, hastened upon deck. 

By this time all the feeling below the breast was gone ; 
and Nelson having made the surgeon ascertain this, said to 
him, " You know I am gone ; I know it. I feel something 
rising in my breast" — putting his hand on his left side — 
" which tells me so." And upon Beatty's inquiring whether 
his pain was very great, he replied, "So great that he wished 
he was dead. Yet," said he, in a lower voice, *' one would 



DEATH OF NELSON. 105 

like to live a little longer too I " And after a few minutes, 
in the same undertone he added, " What would become of 
poor Lady Hamilton if she knew my situation ! " Next to 
his country she occupied his thoughts. Captain Hardy, some 
fifty minutes after he had left the cockpit, returned : and 
again taking the hand of his dying friend and commander, 
congratulated him on having gained a complete victory. How 
many of the enemy were taken he did not know, as it was 
impossible to perceive them distinctly ; but fourteen or 
fifteen at least. " That's well," cried Nelson, "but I bar- 
gained for twenty." And then in a stronger voice he said, 
"Anchor, Hardy, anchor." Hardy upon this hinted that 
Admiral Collingwood would take upon himself the direction 
of affairs. "Not while I live. Hardy," said the dying 
Nelson, ineffectually endeavouring to raise himself from the 
bed ; " do you anchor." His previous order for preparing 
to anchor had shown how clearly he foresaw the necessity of 
this. Presently calling Hardy back, he said to him in a low 
voice, " Don't throw me overboard." And he desired that 
he might be buried by his parents, unless it should please 
the king to order otherwise. Then reverting to private feel- 
ings, " Take care of my dear Lady Hamilton, Hardy ; take 
care of poor Lady Hamilton. — Kiss me, Hardy," said 
he. Hardy knelt down and kissed his cheek ; and Nelson 
said, " Now I am satisfied. Thank God, I have done 
my duty." Hardy stood over him in silence for a moment 
or two, then knelt again and kissed his forehead. " Who is 
that ? " said Nelson ; and being informed, he replied, " God 
bless you. Hardy ! " And Hardy then left him for ever. 

Nelson now desired to be turned upon his right side, and 
said, " I wish I had not left the deck ; for I shall soon be 
gone." Death was indeed rapidly approaching. He said 
to the chaplain, "Doctor, I have //^/ been 2, great sinner;" 
and after a short pause, " Remember that I leave Lady 



io6 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Hamilton and my daughter Horatia as a legacy to my 
country." His articulation now became difficult; but he 
was distinctly heard to say, " Thank God, I have done my 
duty." These words he repeatedly pronounced ; and they 
were the last words which he uttered. He expired at thirty 
minutes after four — three hours and a quarter after he had 
received his wound. 



XX. 

THE BATTLE OF ALBUERA. 

NAPIER. 

[The victory of Trafalgar secured England from invasion, 
and left her mistress of the seas. But Buonaparte, who 
became the Emperor Napoleon, was made by victories 
as great almost absolute master of the Continent ; and 
the two great rival powers of land and sea were left face 
to face. At last the Emperor's sway was broken by a 
rising of the Spanish people on his seizure of Spain ; and 
England at once backed this by sending her troops to its 
support. After a while Wellington became their general ; 
and a war began in which he encountered many of Napo- 
leon's marshals with success. One of the most brilliant 
events of this war was the repulse of an attack under 
Marshal Soult by a British force commanded by Marshal 
Beresford, at Albuera.] 

Soult had forty guns, four thousand veteran cavalry, and 
nineteen thousand chosen infantry, all of one discipline, 
animated by one spirit, and amply compensated for their 
inferiority in number by their fine organization and their 
leader's capacity, which was immeasurably greater than 
his adversary's.^ He had examined the position without 
hindrance on the evening of the 15th, and hearing that the 
^ Marshal Beresford. 



THE BATTLE OF ALBUERA. 107 

fourth division was left at Badajos, and that Blake would not 
arrive before the 17th, resolved to attack next morning, for 
he had detected the weakness of Beresford's dispositions. 
The hill in the centre, commanding the Valverde road, was 
undoubtedly the key of the position if an attack was made 
parallel to the front ; but Soult saw that on the right a high 
rough broken table-land trended back towards the Valverde 
road and looked into the rear of Beresford's line. Hence if 
he could suddenly place his masses there he might roll up the 
allies on their centre and push them into the valley behind ; 
the Valverde road could then be seized, the retreat cut, and 
the strong French cavalry would complete the victory. 

[His plans were admirably carried out on the following morn- 
ing. While the British troops were still occupied in taking 
up their position, and their Spanish allies were delaying 
to move, the French broke in upon their rear.] 

Half an hour had sufficed to render Beresford's position 
nearly desperate. Two-thirds of the French were in com- 
pact order of battle perpendicular to his right, and his 
army, composed of different nations,^ was making a dis- 
orderly change of front. Vainly he tried to get the Spanish 
line advanced to make room for the second division to 
support it, the French guns opened, their infantry threw out 
a heavy musketry fire, and their cavalry, outflanking the 
front and menacing different points, put the Spaniards in 
disorder : they fell fast and went back. 

Soult thought the whole army was yielding, he pushed 
forward his columns, his reserves mounted the hill behind 
him, and General Ruty placed all the French batteries in 
position ; but then WiUiam Stewart reached the foot of the 
height with a brigade of the second division under Col- 
borne, who seeing the confusion above, desired to form 
2 English^ Spanish, and PorU/.gucse. 



io8 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

in order of battle previous to mounting. But Stewart, whose 
boiling courage generally overlaid his judgment, led up in 
column of companies, passed the Spanish right, and at- 
tempted to open a line by succession of battalions as they 
arrived. The enemy's fire was found too destructive to be 
borne passively, and the foremost troops charged ; but then 
heavy rain obscured the view, four regiments of French 
hussars and lancers galloped in from the right at the moment 
of advancing, and two-thirds of the brigade went dovm : the 
31st Regiment only, being on the left, formed square and 
resisted, while the French horsemen, riding furiously about, 
trampled the others, and captured six guns. The tumult 
was great; a lancer fell upon Beresford, who, being a man 
of great strength, put aside the lance and cast him from his 
saddle ; and then a shift of wind blowing aside the smoke 
and mist, Lumley perceived the mischief from the plain 
below, and sending four squadrons up against the straggling 
lancers, cut many of them off: Penne Villemur's Spanish 
cavalry was also directed to charge the French horsemen 
in the plain, and they galloped forward until within a few 
yards of their foes but then shamefully fled. 

During this first unhappy effort of the second division so 
great was the disorder, that the Spaniards in one part fired 
without cessation, though the British troops were before 
them ; in another part, flying before the lancers, they would 
have broken through the 29th, then advancing to succour 
Colborne, but with a stern resolution that regiment smote 
friends and foes without distinction in their onward pro- 
gress. Meanwhile Beresford, finding the main body of 
the Spaniards would not advance, seized an ensign by the 
breast and bore him and his colours by main force to the 
front, yet the troops did not follow, and the coward ran 
back when released from the Marshal's iron grasp. In this 
crisis the weather, which had ruined Colborne's brigade, 



THE BATTLE OF ALBUERA. 109 

saved the day. Soult could not see the whole field of battle, 
and kept his heavy columns inactive when the decisive blow 
might have been struck. His cavalry, indeed, began to 
hem in that of the allies, yet the fire of the horse- artillery 
enabled Lumley, covered as he was by the bed of the 
Aroya and supported by the fourth division, to check them 
on the plain; Colborne still remained on the height with 
the 31st Regiment. The British artillery, under Julius 
Hartman, was coming fast into action, and William Stewart, 
who had escaped the charge of the lancers, v/as again 
mounting the hill with Houghton's brigade, which he 
brought on with equal vehemence, but in a juster order of 
battle. The day then cleared, and a dreadful fire poured 
into the thickest of the French columns convinced Soult 
that the fight was yet to be won. 

Houghton's regiments reached the height under a heavy 
cannonade, and the 29th, after breaking through the fugi- 
tive Spaniards, was charged in flank by the French lancers ; 
yet two companies, wheeling to the right, foiled this 
attack with a sharp fire, and then the third brigade of the 
second division came up on the left, and the Spanish troops, 
under Zayas and Ballesteros, at last moved forward. Hart- 
man's artillery was now in full play, and the enemy's in- 
fantry recoiled, but, soon recovering, renewed the fight with 
greater violence than before. The cannon on both sides 
discharged showers of grape at half range, the peals of 
musketry were incessant, often within pistol-shot, yet the 
close formation of the French embarrassed their battle, and 
the British line would not yield them an inch of ground or 
a moment of time to open their ranks. Their fighting was, 
however, fierce and dangerous. Stewart was twice wounded, 
Colonel Duckworth v/as slain, and the intrepid Houghton, 
having received many wounds without shrinking, fell and 
died in the very act of cheering on his men. Still the 



no PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Struggle continued with unabated fury. Colonel Inglis, 
twenty-two officers, and more than four hundred men, out 
of five hundred and seventy who had mounted the hill, fell 
in the 57th alone; the other regiments were scarcely better 
off, not one-third were standing in any : ammunition failed, 
and as the English fire slackened a French column was 
established in advance upon the right flank. The play of 
the guns checked them a moment, but in this dreadful crisis 
Beresford wavered ! Destruction stared him in the face, 
his personal resources were exhausted, and the unhappy 
thought of a retreat rose in his agitated mind. He had 
before brought Hamilton's Portuguese into a situation to 
cover a retrograde movement ; he now sent Alten orders to 
abandon the bridge and village of Albuera, and to take 
with his Germans and the Portuguese artillery a position 
to cover a retreat by the Valverde road. But while the 
commander was thus preparing to resign the contest. 
Colonel Hardinge had urged Cole to advance with the 
fourth division ; and then riding to the third brigade of the 
second division, which, under the command of Colonel 
Abercrombie, had hitherto been only slightly engaged, 
directed him also to push forward into the fight. The 
die was thus cast, Beresford acquiesced, Alten received 
orders to retake the village, and this terrible battle was 
continued. 

The fourth division was composed of two brigades : one 
of Portuguese, under General Harvey ; the other, under 
Sir William Myers, consisting of the 7th and 23rd Regiments, 
was called the fusileer brigade : Harvey's Portuguese were 
immediately pushed in between Lumley's dragoons and the 
hill, where they were charged by some French cavalry, 
whom they beat off, and meantime Cole led his fusileers up 
the contested height. At this time six guns were in the 
enemy's possession, the whole of the Werle's reserves 



THE BATTLE OF ALBUERA. in 

were coming forward to reinforce the front column of the 
French, the remnant of Houghton's brigade could no longer 
maintain its ground, the field was heaped with carcasses, 
the lancers were riding furiously about the captured artillery 
on the upper parts of the hill, and, behind all, Hamilton's 
Portuguese and Alten's Germans, now withdrawing from 
the bridge, seemed to be in full retreat. Soon, however, 
Cole's fusileers, flanked by a battalion of the Lusitanian 
legion, under Colonel Hawkshawe, mounted the hill, drove 
off the lancers, recovered five of the captured guns and one 
colour, and appeared on the right of Houghton's brigade, 
precisely as Abercrombie passed it on the left. 

Such a gallant line, issuing from the midst of the smoke 
and rapidly separating itself from the confused and broken 
multitude, startled the enemy's masses, which were increas- 
ing and ^Dressing onwards as to an assured victory ; they 
wavered, hesitated, and then vomiting forth a storm of fire, 
hastily endeavoured to enlarge their front, while a fearful 
discharge of grape from all their artillery whistled through 
the British ranks. Myers was killed, Cole and the three 
colonels, Ellis, Blakeney, and Hawkshawe, fell wounded, 
and the fusileer battalions, struck by the iron tempest, 
reeled and staggered like sinking ships ; but suddenly and 
sternly recovering they closed on their terrible enemies, and 
then was seen with what a strength and majesty the British 
soldier fights. In vain did Soult with voice and gesture 
animate his Frenchmen, in vain did the hardiest veterans 
break from the crowded columns and sacrifice their lives to 
gain time for the mass to open out on such a fair field ; in 
vain did the mass itself bear up, and, fiercely striving, fire 
indiscriminately upon friends and foes, while the horsemen 
hovering on the flank threatened to charge the advanc- 
ing line. Nothing could stop that astonishing infantry. 
No sudden burst of undisciplined valour, no nervous 



112 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

enthusiasm weakened the stability of their order, their flash- 
ing eyes were bent on the dark columns in their front, 
their measured tread shook the ground, their dreadful volleys 
swept away the head of every formation, their deafening 
shouts overpowered the dissonant cries that broke from all 
parts of the tumultuous crowd, as slowly and with a horrid 
carnage it was pushed by the incessant vigour of the attack 
to the farthest edge of the hill. In vain did the French 
reserves mix with the struggling multitude to sustain the 
fight, their efforts only increased the irremediable confusion, 
and the mighty mass, breaking off like a loosened cliff, went 
headlong down the steep : the rain flowed after in streams 
discoloured with blood, and eighteen hundred unwounded 
men, the remnant of six thousand unconquerable British 
soldiers, stood triumphant on the fatal hill. 



XXI. 

WATERLOO. 
GREEN. 

[While the French were being pressed hard in Spain, 
Napoleon's empire broke down before a coalition of the. 
European powers, and he was driven into exile at Elba. 
He returned however, was again received by France, and 
finding Europe still against him, resolved to break the 
league of her states by crushing first the English, and then 
the Prussian army, who then occupied Belgium under 
Wellington and Blucher.] 

Napoleon landed on the ist March, 1815, on the coast 
near Cannes, and, followed only by a thousand of his 
guards, marched over the mountains of Dauphine upon 
Grenoble and Lyons. He counted, and counted justly, on 



WATERLOO. 113 

the indifference of the country to its new Bourbon rulers,^ 
on the longing of the army for a fresh struggle which should 
restore its glory, and above all on the spell of his name 
over soldiers whom he had so often led to victory. In 
twenty days from his landing he reached the Tuileries 
unopposed, while Lewis the Eighteenth fled helplessly to 
Ghent. But whatever liopes he had drawn from the 
divisions of the Allied Powers were at once dispelled by 
their resolute action on the news of his descent upon France. 
Their strife was hushed and their old union restored by the 
consciousness of a common danger. A Declaration adopted 
instantly by all put Napoleon to the ban of Europe. An en- 
gagement to supply a million of men for the purposes of the 
war, and a recall of their armies to the Rhine, gave practical 
effect to the word-s of the Allies. England furnished subsidies 
to the amount of eleven millions to support these enormous 
hosts, and hastened to place an army on the frontier of the 
Netherlands. The best troops of the force which had been 
employed in the Peninsula however were still across the 
Atlantic; and of the eighty thousand men who gathered 
round Wellington only about a half were Englishmen, the 
rest principally raw levies from Belgium and Hanover. The 
Duke's plan was to unite with the one hundred and fifty 
thousand Prussians under Marshal Blucher who were ad- 
vancing on the Lower Rhine, and to enter France by Mons 
and Namur while the forces of Austria and Russia closed in 
upon Paris by way of Belfort and Elsass. 

Napoleon had thrown aside all thought of a merely 
defensive war. By amazing efforts he had raised an army of 
two hundred and fifty thousand men in the few months since 
his arrival in Paris ; and in the opening of June one hundred 
and twenty thousand Frenchmen were concentrated on the 

^ Oil Napoleon^ s abdication Lewis the Eighteenth had been 
placed ui)on the throne. 



114 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Sambre at Charleroi, while Wellington's troops still lay in 
cantonments on the line of the Scheldt from Ath to Nivelles, 
and Blucher's on that of the Meuse from Nivelles to Liege. 
Both the alHed armies hastened to unite at Quatre Bras ; but 
their junction was already impossible. Blucher with eighty 
thousand men was himself attacked on the 1 6 th by Napoleon 
at Ligny, and after a desperate contest driven back with 
terrible loss upon Wavre. On the same day Ney^ with 
twenty thousand men, and an equal force under D'Erlon in 
reserve, appeared before Quatre Bras, where as yet only ten 
thousand English and the same force of Belgian troops had 
been able to assemble. The Belgians broke before the 
charges of the French horse ; but the dogged resistance of 
the English infantry gave time for Wellington to bring up 
corps after corps, till at the close of the day Ney saw himself 
heavily outnumbered, and withdrew baffled from the field. 
About five thousand men had fallen on either side in this 
fierce engagement : but heavy as was Wellington's loss, the 
firmness of the English army had already done much to foil 
Napoleon's effort at breaking through the line of the Allies. 
Blucher's retreat however left the English flank uncovered ; 
and on the following day, while the Prussians were falling 
back on Wavre, Wellington with nearly seventy thousand 
men — for his army was now well in hand — withdrew in good 
order upon Waterloo, followed by the mass of the French 
forces under the Emperor himself. 

Napoleon had detached ]\Iarshal Grouchy with thirty 
thousand men to hang upon the rear of the beaten Prussians 
while with a force of eighty thousand men he resolved 
to bring WeUington to battle. On the morning of the 
1 8th of June the two armies faced one another on the 
field of Waterloo in front of the forest of Soignies, on 
the high road to Brussels. Napoleon's one fear had been 
- T/te bi'avest of Napoleon^ s jnarshals. 



WATERLOO. 115 

that of a continued retreat. " I have them ! " he cried, 
as he saw the EngUsh Hne drawn up on a low rise of 
ground which stretched across the high road from the 
chateau of Hougomont on its right to the farm and straggUng 
village of La Haye Sainte on its left. He had some grounds 
for his confidence of success. On either side the forces 
numbered between seventy and eighty thousand men ; but 
the French were superior in guns and cavalry, and a large 
part of Wellington's force consisted of Belgian levies who 
broke and fled at the outset of the fight. A fierce attack 
upon Hougomont opened the battle at eleven ; but it was 
not till midday that the corps of D'Erlon advanced upon 
the centre near La Haye Sainte, which from that time bore 
the main brunt of the struggle. Never has greater courage, 
whether of attack or endurance, been shown on any field 
than v.'as shown by both combatants at Waterloo. The 
columns of D'Erlon, repulsed by the English foot, were 
hurled back in disorder by a charge of the Scots Greys ; 
but the victorious horsemen were crushed in their turn by 
the French cuirassiers, and the mass of the French cavalry, 
twelve thousand strong, flung itself in charge after charge on 
the English front, carrying the English guns and sweeping 
with desperate bravery round the unbroken squares whose 
fire thinned their ranks. With almost equal bravery the 
French columns of the centre again advanced, wrested at 
last the farm of La Haye Sainte from their opponents, and 
pushed on vigorously though in vain under Ney against the 
troops in its rear. 

Terrible as was the English loss — and many of his regi- 
ments were reduced to a mere handful of men — Wellington 
stubbornly held his ground while the Prussians, advancing, 
as they promised, from Wavre through deep and miry 
forest roads, were slowly gathering to his support, disre- 
garding the attack on their rear by which Grouchy strove 
19 



ii6 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

to hold them back from the field. At half-past four their 
advanced guard deployed at last from the woods ; but 
the main body was still far behind, and Napoleon was still 
able to hold his ground against them till their increasing 
masses forced him to stake all on a desperate effort against 
the English front. The Imperial Guard — his only reserve, 
and which had as yet taken no part in the battle — was drawn 
up at seven in two huge columns of attack. The first, with 
Ney himself at its head, swept all before it as it mounted 
the rise beside La Haye Sainte, on which the thin English 
line still held its ground, and all but touched the English 
front when its ma^s, torn by the terrible fire of musketry 
with which it was received, gave w^ay before a charge from 
the English Guards. The second, three thousand strong, 
advanced with the same courage over the slope near Hougo- 
mont, only to be shattered and repulsed in the same way. 
At the moment w^hen these masses, shattered but still un- 
conquered, fell slowly and doggedly back down the fatal rise, 
the Prussians pushed forward some forty thousand strong on 
Napoleon's right, their guns swept the road to Charleroi, and 
Wellington seized the moment for a general advance. Erom 
that moment all was lost. Only the Old Guard stood firm 
in the wreck of the French army ; and nothing but night 
and exhaustion checked the English in their pursuit of the 
broken masses who hurried from the field. The Prussian 
horse continued the chase thipugh the night, and only 
forty thousand Frenchmen with some thirty guns re- 
crossed the Sambre. Napoleon himself fled hurriedly to 
Paris, and his second abdication was followed by the 
triumphant entry of the English and Prussian armies into 
the French capital. 



THE REFORM BILL. 117 

XXIL 

« 
THE REFORM BILL. 

SPENCER WALPOLE. 

[What had enabled England to bear the stress of her long 
strife with France was in part the great increase of her 
wealth which took place during this struggle from the 
developement of her manufacturing industry. It was in 
fact during this period that she became the manufacturing 
country of the world. Of these manufactures the most 
important was that of cotton, which found its main seat 
in Lancashire, and has made that county the wealthiest 
and most populous part of Britain. With the develope- 
ment of manufactures came a great displacement of popu- 
lation, which had drifted to the north of England, and a 
new activity of political thought. In the peace which 
followed on the fall of Napoleon, the English towns and 
trading classes began to crave for a larger share in the 
government of the country, and for this purpose to de- 
mand a rearrangement of the suffrage, or right under 
which men voted for members of the House of Com- 
mons, as well as of the number of members returned by 
the various shires and boroughs. The panic at any con- 
stitutional change which had been created by the French 
Revolution was still strong in England, and reform was 
bitterly opposed ; but a break up of the Tory party in 
1830, brought the Whigs into office; and they at once 
drew up a bill for effecting these changes.] 

Under ordinary circumstances, it would have been natural 
to have entrusted the Reform Bill to the leader of the House 
of Commons. But the Cabinet decided that it should be 
introduced by Lord John Russell, the Paymaster of the 
Forces. Various reasons induced them to arrive at this 
decision. Lord John had for more than ten years actively 



ii8 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

promoted the Reform of Parliament. A bill which was 
brought forward on his responsibility was therefore sure 
of favourable consideration by the Reformers. Lord John 
moreover was -a younger brother of the Duke of Bedford ; 
the duke was one of the largest territorial magnates in the 
country ; he was the proprietor of rotten boroughs ; ^ and 
a bill therefore recommended by his brother's authority 
was likely to reassure timid or wavering politicians. Some- 
thing was indeed necessary to infuse spirit into the hearts 
of the Reformers in Parliament. Outside the House a 
crowd of people, anxiously collected throughout the greater 
portion of the day, testified their anxiety for the success of 
the measure which was about to be introduced. But, inside 
the House, Lord John was confronted by a compact body 
of Tories, anxious to learn what the Ministry were about to 
propose, but ready to forget their own differences in their 
dislike to all reform. Those who had expected a great 
declamatory speech from the introducer of the measure, 
were disappointed. Lord John told his tale in the plainest 
language. But the tale which he had to tell required no 
extraordinary eloquence to adorn it. The Radicals ^ had 
not dared to expect, the Tories in their wildest fears had 
not apprehended, so complete a measure. Enthusiasm was 
visible on one side of the House ; consternation and dismay 
on the other. At last, when Lord John read the list of 
boroughs which were doomed to extinction, the Tories 
hoped that the completeness of the measure would ensure 
its defeat. Forgetting their fears, they began to be amused, 
and burst into peals of derisive laughter. 

Men of large experience believed that, if Peel ^ had risen 
the moment Lord John sat down, and had declined to 

1 Boroughs where there was no real constitue7icy j aiid whwe 
members were really nominees of some private person. 

'^ The more extreme 7'eformers. ^ Sir Robert Peel, then 

leader of the To7'ies in the House of Commo7ts. 



THE Reform bill. 119 

discuss a bill which was not a measure of *' Reform but of 
Revolution," the House would have refused to allow the 
bill to be introduced. It is very unlikely, however, that 
such a result would have ensued. Tory members like Sir 
Robert Inglis had come down to the House primed with 
arguments to prove that little fishing villages in Cornwall, 
were better qualified to return members than the great 
manufacturing towns of Yorkshire and Lancashire. Tory 
members like Inglis, who had searched through Camden 
and Hatsell, Henry and Rapin, Hallam and Burke, who 
had telling quotations in their pockets from Home Tooke's 
writings and Canning's speeches, would hardly have con- 
sented to waste all their labour by smothering the new-born 
infant in the very hour of its birth. The House, instead of 
dividing, talked out the night and adjourned till the morrow. 
The debate, thus adjourned, was protracted over seven 
nights ; but every fresh adjournment strengthened the 
hands of the Ministry and weakened those of the Opposi- 
tion. The measure, which had excited derision in the 
House, was received with enthusiasm out of doors. Reso- 
lutions, supporting the bill, were passed at monster meetings 
in all the large towns. Moderate members, warned by the 
attitude of the country, declined to commit themselves to 
an uncompromising opposition to the measure; and the 
bill, which might possibly have been thrown out on the ist 
of March, was read a first time without a division on the 
9th. 

[The bill however soon found difficulties in the temper 
of the House; and the Ministry were forced either to 
abandon it or to resolve on an appeal to the country. The 
House of Lords, on hearing of their purpose to dissolve 
the Houses, determined to address the king against such a 
dissolution; but they were anticipated by the energy of 
William the Fourth.] 



I20 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Fortunately for the Ministry, the king's consent was easily 
procured. However much he had originally disliked the 
proposal for a dissolution, he disliked much more the attempt 
which was to be made in the House of Lords to interfere 
with his prerogative to dissolve. He declared that he would 
go himself at once ; that if his carriages could not be got 
ready he would go in a hackney coach. Trumpery diffi- 
culties, raised by some of his household, about preparing 
the state carriages and plaiting the horses' manes, might 
have proved impassable mountains in the reign of George — 
they were only molehills in the reign of William. 

On the afternoon on which the dissolution took place the 
House of Lords met at two, the House of Commons at 
half-past two. The impending dissolution had just become 
known, and both Houses were the scene of disorder and 
confusion rarely witnessed in Parliament. In the House of 
Commons the violence was sufficiently marked. In the 
House of Lords the peers were nearly coming to blows. 
Wharncliffe had barely time to read his motion * before his 
speech was stopped by shouts of " the king ! " Brougham ^ 
increased the uproar by angrily declaring that the House of 
Commons had thought fit to take the extreme and unpre- 
cedented step of refusing the supplies. The complaint only 
increased the anger of the Tories. Brougham was hooted. 
Lord Londonderry shook his fist at the Duke of Richmond. 
The peeresses who had come to look at the king trembled 
in the gallery. The king himself, alarmed at the uproar, 
hesitated for a moment to enter the House. Brougham, 
however, easily persuaded him that the indecorous uproar 
would be hushed by his presence. He came ; and told his 
turbulent legislators that he had come to prorogue the 
Parliament, with a view to its immediate dissolution. 

"^ For an address against the dissolution. ^ The Lord 

Chancellor. 



THE REFORM BILL. 121 

The consternation of the Opposition at the sudden dis- 
solution of the ParUament of 1830 was exceeded by the 
enthusiasm which was created by the news of it in the 
country. London was illuminated; Tory peers had their 
windows broken by the mob ; and even the great services 
of Wellington did not protect Apsley House from damage. 
Every one was required to illuminate, and duke or citizen 
who failed to manifest his participation in the universal 
elation, had to pay the penalty for his indifference to the 
general rejoicing. The illumination of the streets of London 
was, however, only one symptom of the general excitement. 
From John-o'-Groat's to the Land's End a cry was raised of 
''The Bill, the whole Bill, and nothing but the Bill!" 
Printed lists were circulated stating the manner in which 
each member had voted on Gascoyne's motion.*^ Every 
one who had directly or indirectly opposed reform incurred 
the full animosity of the populace. Gascoyne himself was 
defeated at Liverpool; Sir Robert Wilson, an ardent Re- 
former on most points, lost his seat at Southwark for having 
supported Gascoyne. County members like Vyvyan, the 
member for Cornwall ; Knatchbull, the member for Kent ; 
and Bankes, the member for Dorsetshire, were replaced by 
Reformers Even the influence of the boroughmongers *" 
was lost in the crisis. For the first time the Duke of New- 
castle found himself unable to do what he liked with his 
own. His candidates were defeated at Newark, at Basset - 
law, and in Nottinghamshire. Lord Lonsdale proved almost 
equally powerless in Cumberland. The mighty force of 
popular opinion, bursting the bonds by which it had been 
controlled, swept political power out of the hands of the 
borough-owners and transferred it to the people. 

^ A hostile amendment meant to force the withdrawal of the bill. 
7 Men who ?-ett(rned their noininees as members to the 
Cotnmons and sold their seats for money. 



122 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH. HISTORY. 

XXIII. 

THE RETREAT FROM CABUL. 

ALISON. 

[The change wrought by the Reform Bill was seen in a 
number of reforms, both in Church and State, which 
followed it, and which are due to the Whig ministries 
who held office for the ten years which followed its 
victory. Their great work at home however was 
sullied by a great crime abroad. A silly panic at the 
advance of Russia towards India drove the ministry to 
resolve on an invasion of Affghanistan, and this measure 
was carried out in a spirit of unscrupulous violence. For 
a while all seemed successful ; but after two years of oc- 
cupation the AfTghans were in revolt ; and a British force 
at Cabul was compelled to buy their permission to with- 
draw from the country. The bargain was only made to 
be broken ; and the retreat ended in an awful massacre.] 

On the sixth of January the march commenced, under 
circumstances of depression unparalleled in the annals of 
mankind. Deep snow covered every inch of mountain and 
plain with one unspotted sheet of dazzling white ; and so 
intensely bitter was the cold as to penetrate and defy the 
defences of the warmest clothing. Sad and suffering issued 
from the British cantonments a confused mass of Euro- 
peans and Asiatics, a mingled crowd of combatants and 
non-combatants, of men of various climes and complexion 
and habits — part of them peculiarly unfitted to endure the 
hardships of a rigorous climate, and many of a sex and 
tender age which in general exempts them from such scenes 
of horror. The number of the crowd was large — 4,500 fight- 
ing men, of whom 700 were Europeans, with six guns and 
three mountain-train pieces, and upwards of 12,000 camp fol- 



THE RETREAT FROM CABUL. 123 

lowers. The advance began to issue from the cantonments 
at nine in the morning, and from that time till dark the 
huge and motley crowd continued to pour out of the gates, 
which were immediately occupied by a crowd of fanatical 
Affghans, who rent the air with their exulting cries, and 
fired without scruple on the retiring troops, by which fifty 
men were killed. When the cantonments were cleared all 
order was lost, and troops and camp-followers, and horses, 
and foot-soldiers, baggage, public and private, become in- 
volved in one inextricable confusion. "The shades of night 
overtook the huge multitude while still pushing their weary 
course ; but the cold surface of the snow reflected the glow 
of light from the flames of the British residency and other 
buildings to which the Affghans had applied the torch the 
moment they were evacuated by our troops. Weary and 
desperate the men lay down on the snow without either 
food, fire, or covering ; and great numbers were frozen to 
death before the first rays af the sun gilded the summits of 
the mountains." 

Disastrous as were the circumstances under which this 
terrible march commenced, they were much aggravated on 
the succeeding day. All order was then lost — not a sem- 
blance even of military array was kept up save with the 
rearguard, while numbers of Affghans, evidently moving 
parallel to the retreating multitude, showed themselves on 
the heights above, and, in open defiance of the capitulation, 
commenced a fire upon them. They even attacked the 
rearguard, and after a violent struggle took the mountain- 
guns, which, though immediately retaken by Lieutenant 
Green, could not be brought away, and were spiked amidst 
the gleaming sabres of the enemy. " Two other guns were 
soon after abandoned, as the horses were unable to drag 
them through the snow. Although at nightfall they had 
only accomplished six miles of their wearisome journey, 
19* 



124 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

the road was covered with dying wretches perishing under 
the intolerable cold. The Sepoys, patient and resigned, 
sank on the line of march, awaiting death. Horses, ponies, 
baggage-waggons, camp-followers, and soldiers were con- 
fusedly muddled, while over the dense mass the jezails of 
the Affghans, posted on the rocks and heights above, sent 
a storm of balls, every one of which took effect among 
the multitude. The enemy severely pressed on our rear, 
and three out of the four remaining guns fell into their 
hands. The soldiers, weary, starving, and frost-bitten, 
could no longer make any resistance. There was no hope 
but in the fidelity of Zemaun Khan, who had always been 
true to us ; but although he had exerted himself to procure 
supplies, scarcely any were got. Meanwhile, the attacks of 
the Affghans continued without intermission.'^ 

The army was in this dreadful state when it arrived at 
the entrance of the Coord Cabul defile. It is five miles in 
length, and bounded on either side with steep overhanging 
mountains. It is so narrow, the sun never penetrates its 
gloomy jaws ; there is barely room for a rugged road or 
horse-track between the torrent and the precipices. The 
stream dashes down the whole way with inconceivable im- 
petuosity, and requires to be crossed eight-and-tvventy times 
in the course of the ascent. To add to the horrors of this 
defile, the frost had covered the road and edges of the 
torrent with a coating of ice, on which the beasts of burden 
could find no secure footing, and in attempting to pass 
which great numbers slipped, fell into the water, and were 
swept down by its resistless rush. The heights above were 
crowded with Affghans, who, securely posted on the sum- 
mits of precipices inaccessible from the bottom of the ravine, 
kept up an incessant fire on the confused and trembUng 
multitude which was struggling through the defile beneath. 
All order was soon lost, if any still remained, Baggage, 



THE RETREAT FROM CABUL. 125 

ammunition, property, public and private, were abandoned 
at every step ; and so complete was the paralysis that the 
Sepoys allowed their muskets to be taken out of their hands 
without attempting any resistance. The massacre was ter- 
rible in this frightful defile. Three thousand perished under 
the balls or knives of the Affghans ; and in the midst of 
the confusion of this scene of carnage the English ladies, 
who accompanied the columns on horseback, often strained 
their eyes in vain to descry their children, lost in the horrors 
in which they were enveloped. 

Such of the troops as contrived to get through this dread- 
ful defile had fresh difficulties of a different kind to contend 
with. The road now ascended the high table-land of Coord 
Cabul, and the snow fell in great quantities, rendering it in 
many places impassable for animals or carriages. A cold 
biting wind from the north-east swept over the lofty bare 
surface, rendering it almost certain death to sit down, how- 
ever wearied the wretches might be. Here, however, the 
whole army was obliged to bivouac, without covering, fire, 
or shelter of any kind. There were only four tents left ; 
one was given to the General, two to the ladies, one to the 
sick. In compliance with a recommendation from Akbar 
Khan, the army halted for a day ; but the inexpedience of 
this delay was so evident that a great part of the native 
troops and camp-followers moved on without any order, and 
the sepoys began to desert in great numbers. Akbar Khan, 
seeing the troops reduced to this woeful plight, now renewed 
his demand for the giving up of the married officers and 
their wives, he promising to keep them a day's march in the 
rear of the army, and in perfect safety. Heartrending as 
this proposal was to honourable and gallant men, no resist- 
ance was made to it — so evident to all was the necessity of 
the case, and so certain the destruction which awaited them 
if they remained with the remnant of the troops. Soon 



126 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

after the whole ladies, with their husbands, escorted by a 
troop of AfFghan horse, set out for the rear of the army, and 
were placed in the power of the treacherous barbarian. 

The European soldiers were now (loth January) almost 
the only efficient troops left. The sepoys, unaccustomed to 
a rigorous climate, had almost all sunk or been slain by the 
Affghans. Nearly all of them were frost-bitten in the hands 
face, or feet ; few were able to hold a musket, much less 
draw a trigger; the prolonged march in the snow had 
paralysed the mental and physical powers even of the 
strongest men. " Hope," says Eyre, " seemed to have died 
in every breast ; the wildness of terror was exhibited in 
every countenance." The end was now approaching. At 
the entrance of a narrow gorge, where the road passed 
between two hills, a strong body of AfFghan marksmen 
appeared, who barred all farther passage and kept up so 
heavy a fire on the column as it approached, that the whole 
sepoys broke and fled. Seeing this the Affghans rushed 
down, sword in hand, captured the public treasure, and all 
of the baggage which hitherto had been preserved. A 
hundred and fifty cavalry troopers, fifty horse artillerymen, 
one hundred and forty of the 44th, and one gun, alone 
forced their way through, and formed now the sole remain- 
ing fighting men of the army. Akbar proposed a surrender 
to this little body; but they indignantly rejected the pro- 
posal, and pushed on, sword in hand, through the crowds 
of camp-followers, bands of Affghans, and the snowy 
wilderness. 

Still hovering around the rear guard, the Affghan horsemen 
continued the pursuit of the miserable but undaunted band 
of men who, in defiance of all obstacles, continued their 
course. Oppressed by a crowd of camp-followers, and 
almost as much impeded by them as by their enemies, the 
wreck of the British force made its desperate way down the 



THE RETREAT FROM CABUL. 127 

Steep descent of the Haft-Kotul, strewn with the melan- 
choly remains of camp-followers and soldiers who had 
formed the advance of the column. As they passed down- 
wards to Fezeen, a heavy fire was opened on the flanks of 
the column ; but the rear guard, led by Shelton, with invin- 
cible firmness repelled the assault, and for a time preserved 
the remnant of the force from destruction. Seeing ruin 
inevitable if a start was not gained upon the enemy, Shelton 
proposed a night march, in the hope of shaking off the 
crowd of camp-followers which, from the very beginning, 
had clung to them, and proved as injurious as the jezails of 
the enemy. Having spiked their last gun, they set off at 
ten at night ; but the alarm had spread to the camp-followers, 
and they clustered round them as ruinously as before. It 
was a clear frosty night, and for some hours the march was 
unmolested; but before morning the enemy overtook the 
rear and opened a fire on the dark moving mass, which 
impelled the terrified crowd of camp-followTrs upon the few 
soldiers in front, and blocking up the road, rendered it 
necessary for the rear guard to force a passage through at 
the bayonet's point. When the way was at length cleared, 
a dense mass of Affghans was found crowning the heights 
in front and barring any farther progress ; but the little band 
of European heroes, led by Shelton, kept the enemy in the 
rear in check, and gallantly forced their way through to 
Jugdulluck. Here the men lay down in the snow to gain 
a few hours' rest, after thirty hours' incessant marching and 
waking ; but hardly had they done so when a fire was opened 
upon them by the Affghans, and they were compelled once 
more to fight. The enemy, however, deterred by their re- 
solution, fled on their approach ; and the wearied column 
returned to Jugdulluck, where they remained under the 
shelter of a ruined wall, but still exposed to the fire of the 
Affghans, all the succeeding day. 



128 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

Here the conferences were resumed, and Akbar Khan 
insisted upon General Elphinstone, Brigadier Shelton, and 
Captain Johnson, remaining hostages in his hands for the 
evacuation of Jellalabad. This was not at first agreed to, 
and these officers repaired to the Affghan chiefs headquarters 
to arrange the terms, where they were detained by force, in 
defiance of their sacred character as pacific negotiators ; 
Elphinstone and Shelton remained in Akbar Khan's hands ; 
and Johnson, who understood Persian, overheard the party 
who surrounded them conversing in that language on the 
pleasure they would have in cutting the Feringhee's throats. 
The remaining body of the British, now reduced to one 
hundred and forty-five fighting men, resumed their march 
at nightfall on the 12th, and plunged into the deep and 
gloomy JugduUuck Pass. On approaching the summit, 
they found the mouth blocked by a stout barricade, from 
behind which the Afighans threw in volley after volley on 
tlie struggling throng. Here Brigadier Antequil, Colonel 
Chambers, Major Thain, and Captain Nicholl, fell and 
died. Not above twenty officers and forty men succeeded 
in forcing the fatal barrier. Their only hope consisted in 
straggling on ahead of their pursuers to Jellalabad. As 
day dawned they approached Gundamuck ; but there their 
numerical weakness became visible, and they were again 
surrounded by a body of the enemy. Captain Souter tied 
the colours of his regiment round his waist, by which they 
were preserved, and the unconquerable band of heroes 
pursued their way on, though sorely weakened at every 
step. In a desperate struggle on leaving Gundamuck, 
nearly every man in the British party was either killed or 
wounded. Twelve officers and a few cavalry, all bleeding, 
rode ahead of the troop, and all but six of them dropped 
down from their horses before reaching Futtehabad. This 
small remnant was treacherously assailed there, when taking 



GEORGE STEPHENSON. 129 

food, by the natives, who had professed sympathy, and 
began by showing kindness; two were slain, the others 
reached their horses and escaped. All perished, however, 
excepting one man. Dr. Brydon, before reaching Jellalabad. 
Worn out and wounded, he had struggled on, borne by a 
jaded pony, till the walls of the fortress appeared in sight. 
He was descried from the ramparts, and brought in by a 
party sent to succour him, being the sole survivor, not a 
captive, of the Affghanistan expedition. 



XXIV. 

GEORGE STEPHENSON. 

J. H. FYFE. 

[The invasion of Affghanistan, and the massacre which it 
brought about, so shook British power in India that war 
after war followed with the native powers which remained 
independent. Their struggles however were fruitless ; and 
the conquest of Scinde and the Punjaub left England 
masters of all India. Meanwhile industrial energy at home 
was intensified by the application of steam to the purposes 
of transport. Steamships were made to traverse the sea : 
and on land the genius of George Stephenson covered 
England with railroads.] 

Towards the close of the last century a bare-legged herd 
laddie, about eight years old, might have been seen, in a 
field at Dewley Burn, a httle village not far from Newcastle, 
amusing himself by making clay engines, with bits of hem- 
lock-stalk for imaginary pipes. The child is father of the 
man, and in after years that little fellow became the inventor 
of the passenger locomotive, and as the founder of the 
gigantic railway system which now spreads its fibres over the 



I30 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

length and breadth, not only of our own country, but of the 
civilized world, the true hero of the half-century. 

The second son of a fireman to one of the colliery 
engines, who had six children and a wife to support on an 
income of twelve shillings a week, George Stephenson had 
to begin work while quite a child. At first he was set to 
look after a neighbour's cows, and keep them from straying ; 
and afterwards he was promoted to the work of leading 
horses at the plough, hoeing turnips, and such like, at a 
salary of fourpence a day. The lad had always been fond 
of poking about in his father's engine-house ; and his great 
ambition at this time was to become a fireman like his 
father. And at length, after being employed in various ways 
about the colliery, he was, at the age of fourteen, appointed 
his father's assistant at a shilling a day. The next year he 
got a situation as foreman on his own account ; and " now,'' 
said he, when his wages were advanced to twelve shillings 
a week — " now I'm a made man for life." 

The next step he took was to get the place of ''plugman " 
to the same engine that his father attended as fireman, the 
former post being rather the higher of the two. The busi- 
ness of the plugman is to w^atch the engine, and see that it 
works properly — the name being derived from the duty of 
plugging the tube at the bottom of the shaft, so that the 
action of the pump should not be interfered with by the 
exposure of the suction holes. George now devoted him- 
self enthusiastically to the study of the engine under his 
care. It became a sort of pet with him ; and he was never 
weary of taking it to pieces, cleaning it, putting it together 
again, and inspecting its various parts with admiration and 
delight, so that he soon made himself thoroughly master of 
its method of working and construction. 

Eighteen years old by this time, George Stephenson was 
wholly uneducated. His father's small earnings, and the 



GEORGE STEPHENSON. 131 

large family he had to feed, at a time when provisions were 
scarce and at war prices, prevented his having any schooling 
in his early years ; and he now set himself to repair his 
deficiencies in that respect. His duties occupied him twelve 
hours a day, so that he had but little leisure to himself ; but 
he was bent on improving himself, and after the duties of 
the day were over, went to a night-school kept by a poor 
teacher in the village of Water-row, where he was now 
situated, on three nights during the week, to take lessons in 
reading and spelling, and afterwards in the science of pot- 
hooks and hangers as well ; so that by the time he was 
nineteen he was able to read clearly, and to write his own 
name. Then he took to arithmetic, for which he showed a 
great predilection. He had always a sum or two by him to 
work out while at the engine side, and soon made great 
progress. 

Having learned all he could from the village teacher, 
George Stephenson now began to study mensuration and 
mathematics at home by himself ; but he also found time to 
make a number of experiments in the hope of finding out 
the secret of perpetual motion, and to make shoe-lasts and 
shoes, as well as mend them. At the end of 1803 his 
only son, Robert, was born; and soon after the family 
removed to KiUingworth, seven miles from Newcastle, 
where George got the place of brakesman. They had not 
been settled long here when his wife died— a loss which 
affected George deeply, and attached him all the more in- 
tensely to the offspring of their union. At this time every- 
thing seemed to go wrong with him. As if his wife's death 
was not grief enough, his father met with an accident which 
deprived him of his eyesight and shattered his frame ; 
George himself was drawn for the militia, and had to pay a 
heavy sum of money for a substitute ; and with his father, 
and mother, and his own boy to support, at a time when 



132 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

taxes where excessive and food dear, he had only a salary of 
j£5'^ or £^^ ^ y^3,r to meet all claims. He was on the 
verge of despair, and would have emigrated to America, if, 
fortunately for our country, he had not been unable to raise 
sufiEicient money for his passage. So he had to stay in the 
old country, where a bright and glorious future awaited 
him, dark and desperate as the prospect then appeared. 

About this time a new pit having been sunk in the dis- 
trict where he worked, the engine fixed for the purpose of 
pumping the water out of the shaft was found a failure. 
This soon reached George's ears. He walked over to the 
pit, carefully examined the various parts of the machiner}^, 
and turned the matter over in his mind. One day when he 
was looking at it, and almost convinced that he had dis- 
covered the cause of the failure, one of the workmen came 
up, and asked him if he could tell what was wrong. 

"Yes," said George; "and I think I could alter it, and 
in a week's time send you to the bottom." George offered 
his services to the engineer. Every expedient had been 
tried to repair the engine, and all had failed. There could 
be no harm, if no good, in Stephenson trying his hand on it. 
So he got leave and set to work. He took the engine en- 
tirely to pieces, and in four days had repaired it thoroughly, 
so that the workmen could get to the bottom and proceed 
with their labours. George Stephenson's skill as an engine- 
doctor began to be noised abroad, and secured him the 
post of engine-wright at Killingworth with a salary of ;^ioo 
a year. 

The idea of constructing a steam-engine to run on the 
colliery tramroads leading to the shipping place, was now 
receiving considerable attention from the engineering com- 
munity. Several schemes had been propounded, and 
engines actually made ; but none of them had been brought 
into use. A mistaken notion prevailed that the plain round 



BALAKLAVA. 133 

wheels of an engine would slip round without catching hold 
of the rails, and that thus no progress would be made ; but 
George Stephenson soon became convinced that the weight 
of the engine would of itself be sufficient to press the wheels 
to the rails, so that they could not fail to bite. He turned 
the subject over and over in his mind, tested his conceptions 
by countless experiments, and at length completed his 
scheme. Money for the construction of a locomotive engine 
on his plan having been supplied by Lord Ravensworth, 
one was made after many difficulties, and placed upon the 
tramroad at Killingworth, where it drew a load of thirty 
tons up a somewhat steep gradient at the rate of four miles 
an hour. Still there was very little saving in cost, and little 
advance in speed as compared with horse power, but in a 
second one, which Stephenson quickly set about construct- 
ing, he turned the waste steam into the chimney to increase 
the draught, and thus puff the fuel into a brisker flame, and 
create a larger volume of steam to propel the locomotive. 
The fundamental principles of the engine thus formed 
remain in operation to this day : and it may in truth be 
termed the progenitor of the great locomotive family. 



XXV. 
BALAKLAVA. 
W. H. RUSSELL. 

[What had aided above all the industrial and commercial 
growth of England, was the long peace which had prevailed 
in Europe since the fall of Napoleon. In 1852 however 
this was broken by a war of England and France against 
Russia in defence of the Turkish Empire. The war 
gathered round the fortress of Sebastopol on the Black 
Sea, which was besieged by the allies ; but the besiegers 



134 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

were soon besieged in their turn by the increasing masses 
of Russian troops, who not only attacked the positions 
they held on the plateau south of the town, but strove to 
cut them off from Balaklava, their main harbour. Here 
however they were met and defeated by the British 
forces. The battle of Balaklava has been described by 
an eye-witness.] 

Never did the painter's eye rest on a more beautiful 
scene than I beheld from the ridge. ^ The fleecy vapours 
still hung around the mountain tops, and mingled with the 
ascending volumes of smoke; the speck of sea sparkled 
freshly in the rays of the morning sun, but its light was 
eclipsed by the flashes which gleamed from the masses of 
armed men below. 

Looking to the left towards the gorge, we beheld six 
compact masses of Russian infantry, which had just de- 
bouched from the mountain passes near the Tchernaya,^ 
and were slowly advancing with solemn stateliness up the 
valley. Immediately in their front was a regular line of 
artillery, of at least twenty pieces strong. Two batteries of 
light guns were already a mile in advance of them, and were 
playing with energy on the redoubts, from which feeble puffs 
of smoke came at long intervals. Behind these guns, in 
front of the infantry, were enormous bodies of cavalry. 
They were in six compact squares, three on each flank, 
moving down en echelon towards us, and the valley was lit 
up with the blaze of their sabres and lance points and gay 
accoutrements. In their front, and extending along the 
intervals between each battery of guns, were clouds of 
mounted skirmishers, wheeling and whirling in the front of 
their march like autumn leaves tossed by the wind. The 
Zouaves^ close to us were lying like tigers at the spring, 

1 Above the plain of Balaklava. ' ^ The stream which 

-passed ilwotigh the valley of Balaklava. ^ French troops 

from Algeria. 



BALAKLAVA. 135 

with ready rifles in hand, hidden chin-deep by the earth- 
works which run along the hne of these ridges on our rear, 
but the quick-eyed Russians were manoeuvring on the other 
side of the valley, and did not expose their columns to 
attack. Below the Zouaves we could see the Turkish 
gunners in the redoubts ;* all is confusion as the shells burst 
over them. 

Just as I came up the Russians had carried No. i 
redoubt, the farthest and most elevated of all, and their 
horsemen were chasing the Turks across the interval which 
lay between it and redoubt No. 2. At that moment the 
cavalry, under Lord Lucan, were formed in glittering masses 
— the Light Brigade, under Lord Cardigan, in advance; 
the Heavy Brigade, under Brigadier-General Scarlett, in 
reserve. They were drawn up just in front of their encamp- 
ment, and were concealed from the view of the enemy by 
a slight "wave'^ in the plain. Considerably to the rear of 
their right, the 93rd Highlanders were drawn up in line, in 
front of the approach to Balaklava. Above and behind 
them, on the heights, the marines were visible through the 
glass, drawn up under arms, and the gunners could be seen 
ready in the earthworks, in which were placed the heavy 
ship's guns. The 93rd had originally been advanced some- 
what more into the plain, but the instant the Russians got 
possession of the first redoubt they opened fire on them 
from our own guns, which inflicted some injury, and Sir 
Colin Campbell^ "retired" his men to a better position. 
Meanwhile the enemy advanced his cavalry rapidly. To 
our inexpressible disgust we saw the Turks in redoubt No. 
2 fly at their approach. They ran in scattered groups 
across towards redoubt No. 3, and towards Balaklava, but 

^ The plain was defended by redoubts manned by Turkish troops. 
5 Commander of the Highlandei's in the valley ; afterwards 
Lord Clyde. 



136 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

the horse hoof of the Cossack was too quick for them, and 
sword and lance were busily plied among the retreating 
herd. The yells of the pursuers and pursued were plainly 
audible. As the lancers and light cavalry of the Russians 
advanced they gathered up their skirmishers with great 
speed and in excellent order — the shifting trails of men, 
which played all over the valley like moonlight on the 
water, contracted, gathered up, and the little peleton in a 
few moments became a solid column. Then up came their 
guns, in rushed their gunners to the abandoned redoubt, 
and the guns of No. 2 redoubt soon played with deadly 
effect 'upon the dispirited defenders of No. 3 redoubt. 
Two or three shots in return from the earthworks, and all 
is silent. The Turks swarm over the earthworks and run" 
in confusion towards the town, firing their muskets at the 
enemy as they run. Again the solid column of cavalry 
opens like a fan, and resolves itself into a long spray of 
skirmishers. It laps the flying Turk, steel flashes in the 
air, and down go the poor Moslem quivering on the plain, 
split through fez and musket-guard to the chin and breast- 
belt. 

There is no support for them. It is evident the Russians 
have been too quick for us. The Turks have been too 
quick also, for they have not held their redoubts long enough 
to enable us to bring them help. In vain the naval guns 
on the heights fire on the Russian cavalry ; the distance is 
too great for shot or shell to reach. In vain the Turkish 
gunners in the earthern batteries which are placed along the 
French entrenchments strive to protect their flying country- 
men ; their shot fly wide and short of the swarming m^asses. 
The Turks betake themselves towards the Highlanders, 
where they check their flight, and form into companies on 
the flanks of the Highlanders. As the Russian cavalry on 
the left of their line crown the hill across the valley, they 



BALAKLAVA. 137 

perceive the Highlanders drawn up at a distance of some 
half mile, calmly waiting their approach. They halt, and 
squadron after squadron flies up from the rear, till they have 
a body of some 1,500 men along the ridge — lancers and 
dragoons and hussars. Then they move in two bodies with 
another in reserve. The cavalry who have been pursuing the 
Turks on the right are coming up to the ridge beneath us, 
which conceals our cavalry from view. The heavy brigade in 
advance is drawn up in two lines. The first line consists of 
the Scots Greys, and of their old companions in glory, the 
Enniskillens ; the second of the 4th Royal Irish of the 5th 
Dragoon Guards, and of the ist Royal Dragoons. The 
Light Cavalry Brigade is on their left, in two lines also. 
The silence is oppressive ; between the cannon bursts one 
can hear the champing of bits and the clink of sabres in 
the valley below. The Russians on their left drew breath 
for a moment, and then in one grand line dashed at the 
Highlanders. The ground flies beneath their horses' feet ; 
gathering speed at every stride, they dash on towards that 
thi7i red streak topped with a line of steel. The Turks fire 
a volley at eight hundred yards and run. As the Russians 
come within six hundred yards, down goes that Hne of steel 
in front, and out rings a rolling volley of Minie musketry. 
The distance is too great ; the Russians are not checked, 
but still sweep onward through the smoke, with the whole 
force of horse and man, here and there knocked over by 
the shot of our batteries above. With breathless suspense 
every one awaits the bursting of the wave upon the line of 
Gaelic rock ; but ere they come within one hundred and 
fifty yards, another deadly volley flashes from the levelled 
rifle, and carries death and terror into the Russians. They 
wheel about, open files right and left, and fly back faster 
than they came. " Bravo, Highlanders ! well done ! " shout 
the excited spectators ; but events thicken. The High- 



138 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

landers and their splendid front are soon forgotten, men 
scarcely have a moment to think of this fact, that the 93rd 
never altered their formation to receive that tide of horse- 
men. " No," said Sir Cohn Campbell, '' I did not think it 
worth while to form them even four deep ! " The ordinary- 
British line, two deep, was quite sufficient to repel the attack 
of these Muscovite cavaliers. 

Our eyes were however turned in a moment on our own 
cavalry. We saw Brigadier-General Scarlett ride along in 
front of his massive squadrons. The Russians — evidently 
corps d' elite — their light blue jackets embroidered with silver 
lace, were advancing on their left, at an easy gallop, towards 
the brow of the hill. A forest of lances glistened in their 
rear, and several squadrons of grey-coated dragoons moved 
up quickly to support them as they reached the summit. 
The instant they came in sight the trumpets of our cavalry 
gave out the warning blast which told us all that in another 
moment we should see the shock of battle beneath our very 
eyes. Lord Raglan,^ all his staff and escort, and groups of 
officers. Zouaves, French generals and officers, and bodies 
of French infantry on the height, were spectators of the 
scene as though they were looking on the stage from the 
boxes of a theatre. Nearly every one dismounted and sat 
down, and not a word was said. The Russians advanced 
down the hill at a slow canter, which they changed to a trot, 
and at last nearly halted. Their first line was at least double 
the length of ours — it was three times as deep. Behind 
them was a similar line, equally strong and compact. They 
evidently despised their insignificant looking enemy, but 
their time was come. The trumpets rang out again through 
the valley, and the Greys and Enniskilleners went right at 
the centre of the Russian cavalry. The space between them 
was only a few hundred yards ; it was scarce enough to let 
^ Commande7'-iti-chief of the British army. 



BALAKLAVA. 139 

the horses "gather way," nor had the men quite space suffi- 
cient for the full play of their sword arms. The Russian 
line brings forward each wing as our cavalry advance, and 
threatens to annihilate them as they pass on. Turning a 
little to their left, so as to meet the Russian right, the Greys 
rush on with a cheer that thrills to every heart — the wild 
shout of the Enniskilleners rises through the air at the same 
instant. As- lightning flashes through a cloud, the Greys 
and Enniskilleners pierced through the dark masses of 
Russians. The shock was but for a moment. There was 
a clash of steel and a light play of sword-blades in the air, 
and then the Greys and the redcoats disappear in the midst 
of the shaken and quivering columns. In another moment 
we see them emerging and dashing on with diminished 
numbers, and in broken order, against the second line 
which is advancing against them as fast as it can to retrieve 
the fortune of the charge. It was a terrible moment. 
" God help them ! they are lost ! ^' was the exclamation of 
more than one man and the thought of many. With un- 
abated fire the noble hearts dashed at their enemy. It was 
a fight of heroes. The first line of Russians, which had 
been smashed utterly by our charge, and had fled off at one 
flank and towards the centre, were coming back to swallow 
up our handful of men. By sheer steel and sheer courage 
Enniskillener and Scot were winning their desperate way^ 
right through the enemy's squadrons, and already grey horses 
and red coats had appeared right at the rear of the second 
mass, when, with irresistible force, like one bolt from a bow, 
the I St Royals, the 4th Dragoon Guards, and the 5 th 
Dragoon Guards, rushed at the remnants of the first line ot 
the enemy, went through it as though it were made of paste- 
board, and dashing on the second body of Russians as they 
were still disordered by the terrible assault of the Greys and 
their companions, put them to utter rout. This Russian 
20 



I40 PROSE READINGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. 

horse in less than five minutes after it met our dragoons 
was flying with all its speed before a force certainly not half 
its strength. A cheer burst from every lip — in the enthu- 
siasm, officers and men took off their caps and shouted with 
delight, and thus keeping up the scenic character of their 
position, they clapped their hands again and again. 



THE END. 



HISTORY OF THE ElUSH PEOPLE. 



By JOHN EIOHAED GEEEN, M.A., 

Author of "A Short History of the English People," "Stray Studies from 
England and Italy." 

In Four Volumes. VoTs. I., II., and HI. ready. 
8vo, Cloth, $2 50 per volume. 



The extraordinary s^iccess of Green's " Short History of the Eng- 
lish People " was due to three things : its brevity, its treatment of 
the national life beyond the strict domain of politics, and the ad- 
mirable power of lucid and picturesque narrative shown by the 
author. The story of England is always interesting, but in the 
pages of Macaulay and Green it is fascinating. Mr. Green, who is 
an examiner in history at Oxford, proved by this work his thorough 
mastery of English history and his singular literary skill, and the 
larger, but not bulky, history which the first book implied is now 
appearing. It has all the charm of the earlier volume, with an op- 
portunity for greater picturesqueness of detail, and it is truly a 
masterpiece of narration. The style is simple, racy, and vivid; 
the movement continuous and alluring. The life of the original 
Englishmen before they came to Britain, with its social and politi- 
cal conditions, is sketched with great felicity, and invested with a 
human interest. With all its grace and charm, the book is vigor- 
ous and wholesome in tone, free from controversy, but full of the 
indications of a sound judgment and a sweet nature, and of the 
best historical spirit. The author's jiower of condensation, with- 
out losing the interest and color, the light and shade of his story, is 



G^-eeii V History of the English People. 



remarkable. Without the slightest sacrifice of what is essential, 
he is never dry. He knows instinctively that the stately prolixi- 
ty of the old historians is now necessarily antiquated, and the very 
faculty that he displays of incturesque condensation without bar- 
renness has become a cardinal qualification of the historian. 

Four moderate volumes give room for a sufficiently am]5le treat- 
ment, and it is so comprehensive, complete, and satisfactory that 
Green's must become the standard history of England, not only as 
a po^jular history, but as the history of the people. 



EXTRACTS FROM NOTICES OF THE FIRST AND SECOND VOLUMES. 

Mr. Green, a few years ago, had the satisfaction, to use theatrical lan- 
guage, of achieving a brilliant success. He had the rare fortune to write 
a book that everybody read; scholars acknowledged Iws learning, his 
breadth of view, and his grasp of his subject. * * * AH owned his charm 
of style and narrative power, and altogether the " Short History of the 
English People " might boast of having excited much more of public at- 
tention than is usually bestowed upon books of its kind. * * * The "History 
of the English People " no longer wears the modest guise of a school-book. 
It has become a book of stately appearance. Though the materials of 
the earlier book have been worked into it, and though we recognize many 
of the most brilliant passages as old friends, still the arrangement is so 
altered, and the amount of fresh matter is so large, that it is substantially 
a new work. History in these days is one of the most progressive of sci- 
ences; and Mr. Green deserves great credit for the readiness Avith which 
he has assimilated new information, for the frank and unhesitating man- 
ner in which he has withdrawn from untenable positions, and for the pains 
he has taken to bring his work up to the newest lights. * * * The new 
book, while retaining the life and sparkle of its predecessor, is better pro- 
portioned, calmer in tone, and altogether a more ripe and complete piece 
of work. — Saturday Review^ London. 

Mr, Green's style is as clear as crystal, and he throws a charm over 
all that he touches. — Watchman ^^o^ion. 

The high moral tone of Mr. Green's writings will render them beneficial 
to the young, and most acceptable to all of the better class of readers. 
His treatment of religious questions is uniformly tolerant, truthful, and 
amiable. In style he is simple, natural, and elegant, evincing earnestness 
of purpose and accuracy of statement, and combining reliable philosophic 
generalization with peculiar vivacity of detail. — N. Y. Times. 



Green's History of the English People. 



The great charm of Mr. Green's earUer work lay in the matchless vigor 
of its style, its rich fancy, its vividness in narration, its undoubted origi- 
nality. These are the qualities which made it the most readable sketch 
of English history that we have ; and the best testimony to its peculiar 
worth is to be sought in the welcome it has received at the hands of the 
general reader. Numbers of busy men, who have not the time to study 
English history, and who had been disgusted by the tediousness and dul- 
ness of other short histories, eagerly read Mr. Green's book. Thus it 
may be said to have created a new class of historical readers. The new 
book bears the same characteristics, and it is in the same department 
that it is likely to be of permanent value. * * * It is full of thought and 
suggestion. It is fully up to the level of present historical criticism. 
The materials are most cleverly put together ; the facts are exceedingly 
well marshalled. It never allows the interest to flag for an instant, and 
it remains by far the most graphic sketch of English history that ex- 
ists. — Academy, London. 

Not only is the style of the book charming, but, leaving the dry de- 
tails of unimportant events, the author culls the grander events, which 
he weaves into the connected history with the skill of a finished workman. 
— Chicago Inter- Ocean. 

It is the kind of history we feel we must have ; the history in which 
we have a personal, living interest, that really instructs and helps us, and 
prepares us for the great responsibility which weighs upon us as citizens 
of a government " of the people, by the people, and for the people." Such 
a history Mr. Green has Avritten for the mass of us as no man has done 
before. He portrays great men, lords, leaders, kings, Avith the hand of a 
master. — Christian Intelligencer, N. Y. 

Mr. Green's work will supply a want in our literature. There is an im- 
mense class of readers who are beyond their school- days, and want to 
read history, and not study it from a text-book. To them Mr. Green will 
come as a friendly author who gives neither too much nor too little. — Bos- 
ton Transcript. 

In John Eichard Green the English people have found a fresh, fair- 
minded, and delightfully fascinating historian. — Christian Advocate, N. Y. 

It will ever hold an honored place. It has made a niche for itself Avhich 
it fills most admirably ; and, now that we have it, we wonder how we ever 
got along without it. — N. Y. Herald. 

There was room for just such a book, which should relegate kings and 
nobles to the background of the picture, and in whose record foreign wars 
and dynastic quarrels should make way for the social growth and poUtical 
enfranchisement of the bulk of the nation. * * * His style is clear, brisk, 
and strikingly unconventional. — N. Y. Sim. 



Green V History of the English People. 



It is not only in the addition of new matter that this edition. differs from 
the former one. The whole work is rearranged, its plan is made more sys- 
tematic, the narrative is more continuous, the style is chastened, errors 
are corrected, many of Mr. Green's peculiarities in the division of his sub- 
ject have been abandoned, and the whole book wears a greater aspect of 
sobriety and maturity both of thought and style. * * * Mr. Green has done 
a work Avhich probably no one but himself could have done. He has read 
and assimilated the results of all the labors of students during the last 
haK-century in the field of English history, and has given them a fresh 
meaning by his own independent study. He has fused together, by the 
force of sympathetic imagination, all that he has so collected, and has given 
us a vivid and forcible sketch of the mai'ch of English history. His book, 
both in its aims and in its accomplishment, rises far beyond any of a sim- 
ilar kind, and it will give the coloring to the popular view of English histo- 
ry for some time to come. * * * The second volume gives us an increased 
sense of Mr, Green's historical ability. — Examiner^ Loudon. 

Mr. Green has already achieved an enviable reputation for thoroughness 
of research, accuracy, fairness, insight, and the purity, freshness, and force 
of his style. * * * It is a great satisfaction to observe that history is no 
longer to be written in the old-fashioned, narrow way of viewing the life 
of nations. The new philosophy of history has revolutionized the meth- 
ods of writing history. While kings and their butchering armies are not 
forgotten, a hundred other commanding interests now share with them 
the attention of those who study, humanely, the past. — Advance, Chicago. 

It is thoroughly good and readable; it is both graceful and strong. 

* * * The author has not given us the bones of history, or merely its pag- 
eants, but the very life and body of it. — Hartford Coicrant. 

England has a noble list of historians. Xo other nation can lay claim 
to such a galaxy of chroniclers as that which embraces glowing, rhetorical 
Macaulay ; vivid, logical Hume ; terse, picturesque Smollett ; painstaking 
Hallam, partisan Cobbett, or poetic Howitt. Mr. Green has proven his 
claim to rank with Freeman and Froude, among the better of the Victo- 
rian historians. He is a truer historian than either, in the sense that he 
has no fight with creeds or persons of the past, and is never guilty of 
sacrificing sense to sound or form. He has succeeded in accomplishing 
a Herculean task — in traversing the beaten path of accepted tradition 
and settled fact, and, with the same old materials, making a new work. 

* * * Mr. -Green is instructive, and still pleasing. His style is singularly 
clear and strong. Xot a word is misplaced or wasted. His history has 
all the chaim of a romance, and merits popularity as the most compre- 
hensive and sympathetic record of the English people in existence. — Ob- 
server, N. Y. 



Green V History of the Ejiglish People. 



Every reader of the "Short History of the Enghsh People" knows, too, 
that Mr. Green therem proved himself to be precisely the best man to write 
that side of English history. His profound and accurate scholarship, his 
intimate knowledge of the subject, his keen sympathy with the people in 
all the stages of their long, patient, and sometimes cruelly baffled struggle 
against old tyrannies of thought, and custom, and law, and, above all, the 
subtle charm of his literary style, his wonderful precision of statement, his 
directness, simpUcity, and lucidity of phrase, the bold picturesqueness and 
intense vividness of his descriptions — all these gifts combined to fit him 
for the task he undertook, and not many readers laid aside the " Short 
History of the English People " without breathing a hope that this man 
might see fit to write a long history of the English people, that he might 
elaborate his sketch into a fully wrought picture, that he might do for 
this side of English history what other historians have done for the side 
of it in which the intrigues of courts and kings, wars and diplomacy, 
occupy foremost places. This common wish of all the readers of Mr. 
Green's work is now in course of fulfilment. * * * The increase in the 
value and interest of the work is in a sort of geometrical ratio to the in- 
crease in its size. — N. Y. Evening Post. 

Too much can hardly be said of the excellence of this history, its lucid 
arrangement of facts, its faithful characterization of kings, soldiers, states- 
men, and ecclesiastics, and its picturesque narrative. — FhilacMjjMa Even- 
ing Bulletin. 

There can be no doubt that Mr. Green has got the right idea of histori- 
cal writing, for everywhere he subordinates the merely superficial to the 
vital in popular characteristics, though mindful of the truth that seemingly 
trivial circumstances afford the key to events and actions which are com- 
monly regarded as inexplicable except by profound theories. — Boston Globe. 



Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

^^° Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, 
on receipt of the price. 



A SHOKT HISTOEY 

OF 

THE ENGLISH PEOPLE. 



JOHN RICHARD GREEN, M.A. 

8vo, Cloth, $1 52. 

It displays throughout a firm hold on the subject, and a singularly wide 
range of thought and sympathy. As a composition, too, the book is clear, 
forcible, and brilliant. It is tliQ most truly original book of the kind that I 
ever saw. — Extract from Letter o/ Edward A. Freeman, D.C.L., LL.D. 

Rightly taken, the history of England is one of the grandest human 
stories, and Mr. Green has so taken it that his book should delight the 
general reader quite as much as it delights the student. — Extract from Let- 
ter of Professor Henry Morley. 

We knoAv of no record of the whole drama of English history to be 
compared with it. We know of none that is so distinctly a work of gen- 
ius. * * * It is a really wonderful production. There is a freshness and 
originality breathing from one end to the other — a charm of style, and a 
power, both narrative and descriptive, which lift it altogether out of the 
class of books to which at first sight it might seem to belong. — Fall Mall 
Gazette, London. 

It is hard to know what expressions to use in speaking of such a book, 
for superlatives of admiration would be out of place, and yet without them 
it is difficult to express the full measure of appreciation which it deserves. 
— BlacJcwoocVs Magazine. 

Numberless are the histories of England, and yet until now it has been 
difficult to select any one from the number as really and thoroughly satis- 
factory. This difficulty exists no longer. We will not go so far as to pro- 
nounce Mr. Green's book faultless, but we will say without hesitation that 
it is almost a model of what such a book should be — so far above any 
other brief and complete history of England that there is no room for 
comparison. — The Nation, N. Y. 



Published by HARPER & BROTHERS,, New York. 

ZW~ The above ivork sent by mail, postage 2}repaid, to any j)art of the United States, 
on receipt of the price. 



